Subject Matter and End of Moral Philosophy

All arts and all teaching, and similarly every act and every choice, seem to have the attainment of some good as their object. [8]

For this reason, it has correctly been proclaimed that good is what all desire. [9]

Now a certain diversity of ends is apparent, for some are operations while others are works outside the operations. [12]

If the ends are works, then the works are better than the operations. [14]

Since there are many operations, arts, and sciences, there must also be different ends for each of them. Thus, the end of medical art is health; of shipbuilding, navigation; of strategy, victory; of domestic economy, riches. [15]

In all such skills, a subordination of one to another is found. For instance, the art of bridle-making is subordinated to the art of riding, as also are the arts which make riding equipment. The art of riding, in turn, and all military operations come under strategy. In a similar way, other arts are subordinated to still others. [16]

It follows, then, that, in all these, architectonic ends are more desirable than the ends subordinated to them. The reason is that men seek the latter for the sake of the former. [17]

It does not matter whether the ends are operations themselves or something other than the operations, as in the skills mentioned above. [18]

1. As the Philosopher says in the beginning of the Metaphysics, it is the business of the wise man to order. The reason for this is that wisdom is the most powerful perfection of reason, whose characteristic is to know order. Even if the sensitive powers know some things absolutely, nevertheless to know the order of one thing to another is exclusively the work of intellect or reason.

Now, an order with two parts is found in things.

One kind is that of parts of a totality—that is, a group—among themselves, as the parts of a house are mutually ordered to each other.

The second order is that of things to an end, and this order is of greater importance than the first.

For, as the Philosopher says in Metaphysics 11, the order of the parts of an army among themselves exists because of the order of the whole army to the commander.

Now, order is related to reason in a fourfold way.

There is one order that reason does not establish, but only beholds; such is the order of things in nature.

There is a second order that reason establishes in its own act of consideration, such as when it arranges its concepts among themselves, and the signs of concepts as well, because words express the meanings of the concepts.

There is a third order that reason, in deliberating, establishes in the operations of the will.

There is a fourth order that reason, in planning, establishes in the external things that it causes, such as a chest and a house.

2. Because the operation of reason is perfected by habit, a differentiation of sciences arises according to the different modes of order that reason considers in particular. The function of natural philosophy is to consider the order of things that human reason considers but does not establish—understanding that metaphysics is included here with natural philosophy. The order that reason makes in its own act of consideration pertains to rational philosophy (logic), which properly considers the order of the parts of verbal expression with one another and the order of principles to one another and to their conclusions. The order of voluntary actions pertains to the consideration of moral philosophy. The order that reason, in planning, establishes in external things arranged by human reason pertains to the mechanical arts. Accordingly, it is proper to moral philosophy, to which our attention is at present directed, to consider human operations insofar as they are ordered to one another and to an end.

3. I am talking about human operations, which spring from man’s will according to the order of reason. But if some operations are found in man that are not subject to the will and reason, they are not properly called human, but natural, as clearly appears in operations of the vegetative soul. These in no way fall under the consideration of moral philosophy. As the subject of natural philosophy is motion, or mobile being, so the subject of moral philosophy is human action ordered to an end, or even man as he is an agent voluntarily acting for an end.

4. It must be understood that, because man is by nature a social animal, needing many things to live that he cannot get for himself if alone, he naturally is a part of a group that provides him with help to live well.

He needs this help for two reasons.

First, to have what is necessary for life, without which he cannot live the present life; for this, man is helped by the domestic group of which he is a part. For, every man is indebted to his parents for his generation, his nourishment, and his instruction. Likewise, individuals, who are members of the family, help one another to procure the necessities of life.

In another way, man receives help from the group of which he is a part so as to have a perfect sufficiency for life—namely, so that he may not only live, but live well, having everything sufficient for living. In this way, man is helped by the civic group of which he is a member, not only in regard to bodily needs—as certainly in the state there are many crafts that a single household cannot provide—but also in regard to right conduct, inasmuch as public authority restrains with fear of punishment delinquent young men whom paternal admonition is not able to correct.

5. It must be known, moreover, that the whole that the political group or the family constitutes has only a unity of order, for it is not something absolutely one. A part of this whole, therefore, can have an operation that is not the operation of the whole, as a soldier in an army has an activity that does not belong to the whole army. However, this whole does have an operation that is not proper to its parts but to the whole—for example, an assault by the entire army. Likewise, the movement of a boat is a combined operation of the crew rowing the boat. There is also a kind of whole that has a unity not only of order but also of composition, or of conjunction, or even of continuity, and according to this unity, a thing is one absolutely; therefore, there is no operation of the part that does not belong to the whole. For, in things all of one piece, the motion of the whole and of the part is the same. Similarly, in composites and in conjoined things, the operation of a part is principally that of the whole. For this reason, such both considerations of the whole and those of its parts must belong to the same science. It does not, however, pertain to the same science to consider the whole, which has solely the unity of order, and the parts of this whole.

6. Thus it is that moral philosophy is divided into three parts.

The first of these, which is called individual ethics, considers an individual’s operations as ordered to an end.

The second, called domestic ethics, considers the operations of the domestic group.

The third, called political science, considers the operations of the civic group.

7. Thus Aristotle, as he begins the treatment of moral philosophy in the first part of this book called the Ethics, or Morals, first gives an introduction in which he does three things.

First, he shows what he intends to do.

Second, at our study will be (1094b10; [32]), he determines the manner of treatment.

Third, at now every man (1094b27; [37]), he explains what manner of person the student of this science ought to be.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he presents in advance certain things necessary to explain his intention.

Second, at if our actions (1094a18; [19]), he manifests his intention.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows how it is necessary to start with the end.

Second, at since there are many (1094a6; [15]), he compares habits and acts with the end.

On the first point, he does three things.

He states initially that all human beings are ordered to an end.

Second, at now a certain diversity (1094a3; [12]), he shows that there can be a number of ends.

Third, at if the ends are works (1094a5; [14]), he makes a comparison among ends.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he states his intention.

Second, at for this reason (1094a2; [9]), he explains his purpose.

8. In regard to the first, we should consider that there are two principles of human acts—namely, the intellect or reason and the appetite—which are active principles, as explained in the third book of De anima. The intellect or reason considers both the speculative and the practical. The rational appetite is concerned with choice and execution. Now, all these are ordered to some good as to their end, for truth is the end of speculation. Therefore, in the speculative intellect, he includes teaching, by which science is conveyed from teacher to student, while in the practical intellect, he locates art, which is right reason applied to things to be made, as is stated in book 6 of this work [1153]. He indicates that the act of the appetitive intellect is choice, and that execution is action. He does not mention prudence, which is in the practical reason together with art, because choice is properly directed by prudence. He says, therefore, that each of these faculties obviously seeks some good as an end.

9. Then, at for this reason (1094a2), he manifests his intention by the effect of good. In regard to this, we should bear in mind that good is enumerated among the primary entities to such a degree—according to the Platonists—that good is prior to being. But, in reality, good is convertible with being. Now primary things cannot be understood by anything anterior to them, but by something consequent, as causes are understood through their proper effects. But, since good properly is the moving principle of the appetite, good is described as movement of the appetite, just as motive power is usually manifested through motion. For this reason, he says that the philosophers have rightly declared that good is what all desire (1094a2).

10. There is no problem from the fact that some men desire evil. For, they desire evil only under the aspect of good—that is, insofar as they think it good. Hence their intention primarily aims at the good and only incidentally touches on the evil.

11. The saying, what all desire, is to be understood not only of those who knowingly seek good but also of beings lacking knowledge. These things by a natural desire tend to good not as knowing the good, but because they are moved to it by something cognitive—that is, under the direction of the divine intellect in the way an arrow speeds toward a target by the aim of the archer. This very tendency to good is the desiring of good. Hence, he says that all beings desire good insofar as they tend to good. But there is not one good to which all tend; this will be explained later [58–59, 108–9]. Therefore, he does not single out here a particular good, but rather discusses good in general. However, because nothing is good except insofar as it is a likeness and participation of the highest good, the highest good itself is in some way desired in every particular good. Thus, it can be said that the true good is what all desire.

12. Then, at now a certain diversity (1094a3), he indicates that there is a diversity of ends. In this, we must keep in mind that the final good, to which the inclination of each thing tends, is its ultimate perfection. Now, the first perfection is possessed after the manner of a form, but the second perfection by way of an operation. Consequently, there must be this diversity of ends: some are operations and others are works, that is, works which exist apart from the operations.

13. For evidence of this, we must consider that activity is of two kinds, as noted in Metaphysics 9.¹

One, which remains in the agent himself (like seeing, wishing, and understanding), is an operation of the type properly called “action.”

The other is an operation passing over into external matter and is properly called “making.” This has two aspects:

sometimes a person accepts external matter only for use, as a horse for riding and a guitar for playing;

at other times he takes external matter to change it into some other form, as when a carpenter constructs a house or a bed.

Accordingly, the first and second of these operations do not have any product that is their term, but each of them is an end. The first, however, is more excellent than the second, inasmuch as it remains in the agent himself. But the third operation is a kind of generation whose term is a thing produced. So, in operations of the third type, the things done are the ends.

14. Then, at if the ends (1094a5), he presents the third type, saying that, whenever the products that are extrinsic to the activities are ends, the things produced necessarily are better than the operations that brought them to be, as the thing generated is better than the generative action. The end is more important than the means—in fact, the means have goodness from their relation to the end.

15. Then, at since there are many operations (1094a6), he compares habits and acts with the end.

In this matter he does four things.

First, he shows that different things are ordered to different ends. He says that, since there are many operations and arts and sciences, there must be different ends for each of them, for the ends and the means are proportional. This he shows by saying that the end of medical art is health; of shipbuilding, navigation; of strategy, victory; and of domestic economy, or managing a household, riches (1094a6). He accepts this last example on the opinion of the majority of men, for he himself proves in the first book of the Politics¹ that riches are not the end of domestic economy, but the instruments thereof.

16. Second, at in all such skills (1094a9), he arranges the order of habits among themselves. It happens that one operative habit, which he calls “virtue” (or “skill”), is subordinated to another, as the art of bridle-making is subordinated to the art of riding because the rider tells the bridle-maker how he should make the bridle. In this way, the rider is the designer, that is, the chief producer of the thing itself. The same arguments hold for the other arts making additional equipment needed for riding, such as saddles or the like. The equestrian art is again subordinated to the military, for in ancient times, the army included not only mounted soldiers, but everyone who fought for victory. Hence, under military science, there is not only the equestrian, but every art or skill ordered to the prosecution of war—archery, ballistics, and everything else of this kind. In this same way, other arts are subordinated to still others.

17. Third, at it follows, then (1094a14), he lays down the order of ends according to the order of habits. He says that, in all arts or skills, it is commonly true that the architectonic ends are absolutely more desirable to everyone than are the ends of the arts or skills that are subordinated to the chief ends. He proves this from the fact that men follow (that is, seek) those things (that is, the ends of the inferior arts or skills) for the sake of these (that is, the ends of the superior). The text, however, is suspensive, and should be read as follows: in all such skills, a subordination of one to another is found . . . in all these the architectonic ends.

18. Fourth, at it does not matter (1094a16), he shows that it makes no difference in the order of ends whether the end is a product or an activity. He says that it makes no difference in what pertains to this order whether these ends be activities or some product other than the activities, as is evident from the explanation given above [16]. The end of bridle-making is a finished bridle; but the end of horsemanship, which is of greater importance, is an operation, namely, riding. The contrary is true in medicine and gymnastics, for the end of medicine is something produced, namely, health. But of gymnastics, which is comprised under it, the end is an activity, which is exercise.

The Supreme End of Human Affairs

If our actions have an end that we wish for itself, and if we wish other things for that end, and not each thing on account of another (for this would involve us in an infinite process making our desire useless and in vain), then obviously that will be not only a good end, but a supreme end. [19]

A knowledge of it, therefore, will be a great help in human living, for like archers keeping their eye on the target, we will more likely attain our objective. [23]

This being the case, we must try to determine the general characteristics of this end and to which of the sciences or skills its study pertains. [24]

It seems undoubtedly to belong to the most truly architectonic science. This, to all appearances, is political science. [25]

Now, such a science ordains which studies are to be followed in a state, and who are to pursue them and to what extent. Hence, we see the noblest of the operative arts—for example, strategy, domestic economy, and rhetoric—fall under political science. [26]

Political science in fact makes use of other practical sciences, even legislating what is to be done and what is not to be done. Its end, therefore, embraces the ends of the other practical sciences. For these reasons, then, this end will be the good of man. [29]

Even though the good be the same for one man and for the whole state, it seems much better and more perfect to procure and preserve the good of the whole state. It is admirable, indeed, to preserve the good of an individual, but it is better still and more divine to do this for a nation and for cities.

With such a good as the object of our inquiry, we may call our study political science. [30]

19. If our actions have an end. After having stated premises on which his proposition must rest, the Philosopher now begins to manifest it, that is, to show what the principal purpose of this science is.

To achieve this, he does three things.

First, he shows from what he has already said that there is some supreme end of human affairs.

Second, at a knowledge of it (1094a22; [23]), he shows that it is necessary to know this end.

Third, at it seems undoubtedly (1094a26; [25]), he shows to which science this knowledge belongs.

He gives three proofs for the first statement.

The principal one is this. Whenever an end is such that we wish other things because of it, and we wish it for itself and not because of something else, then that end is not only a good end, but a supreme one. This is obvious from the fact that an end for the sake of which other ends are sought is of greater importance than they, as is evident from his earlier remarks [16]. But it is necessary that there be some such end of human affairs. Therefore, human life or activity has some good end that is supreme.

20. He proves the minor premise by an argument leading to an impossible conclusion. Thus, it is evident from the premises [16] that one end is desired on account of another. Now, either we arrive at some end that is not desired on account of another, or we do not. If we do, the proposition is proved. If, however, we do not find some such end, it follows that every end will be desired on account of another end. In this case, we must proceed to infinity. But it is impossible in ends to proceed to infinity. Therefore, there must be some end that is not desired on account of another.

21. That it is impossible in ends to proceed to infinity is proved also by an argument having an impossible resolution. If we should proceed to infinity in our desire for ends so that one end should always be desired on account of another to infinity, we will never arrive at the point where a man may attain the ends desired. But a man desires fruitlessly what he cannot get; consequently, the end he desires would be useless and vain. But this desire is natural, for it was said above [9] that the good is what all beings naturally desire. Hence it follows that a natural desire would be useless and vain. But this is impossible. The reason is that a natural desire is nothing else but an inclination belonging to things by the disposition of the first mover, and this cannot be frustrated. Therefore, it is impossible that we should proceed to an infinity of ends.

22. It follows that there must be some ultimate end on account of which all other things are desired, while this end itself is not desired on account of anything else. So there must be some supreme end of human affairs.

23. Then, at a knowledge of it (1094a22), he shows that the knowledge of this end is necessary for man. He proves this in two steps.

First, he shows that it is necessary for man to know such an end.

Second, at this being the case (1094a24), he manifests what man should know about it.

He concludes then from what has been said [19–22] that it is necessary for man to know that there is a supreme end of human affairs, because this has great importance for life (1094a22); that is, it is of great help in all phases of human living. This conclusion is apparent for the following reasons. Nothing that is directed to another can be immediately attained by man unless he knows that other to which it is to be directed. An obvious indication of this is found in the example of the archer who shoots straight because he keeps his eye on the target at which he is aiming. Now, man’s whole life ought to be ordered to the supreme and ultimate end of human life. It is necessary, therefore, to have a knowledge of this end of human life. The explanation is that the reason for the means must always be found in the end itself, as also is proved in Physics 2.¹

24. Then, at this being the case (1094a24), he shows what ought to be known about that end. He states that, inasmuch as the knowledge of the supreme end is necessary for human life, we must determine what is the supreme end and to which speculative or practical science its study belongs. By “sciences” he understands the speculative sciences, and by “skills” the practical sciences, since there are principles of some operations. According to him, we must make this attempt in order to suggest the difficulty there is in grasping the ultimate end of human life, as in considering all ultimate causes. He says then that we should understand it in its general outlines—that is, with only the evidence of probability—because such a manner of understanding is largely what is available in human things, as he will explain later on [131–34]. Now, the first of these two belongs to the treatise on this science, because such a consideration is about the matter of this science. But the second belongs to the introduction, where its purpose is explained.

25. Therefore, when immediately after this material he says, it seems undoubtedly (1094a26), he shows to which science the consideration of this end should belong. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he gives a reason in proof of his statement.

Second, at now such a science (1094a28; [26]), he proves something which he had previously presumed.

First, then, he states the reason for his proposal, which is this: the supreme end belongs to the most important and most truly architectonic science. This is clear from what was said above, for it was pointed out [16, 20] that the sciences or arts treating of the means to the end are contained under the science or art treating of the end. So it is necessary that the ultimate end should belong to the most important science concerned with the primary and most important end and to the truly architectonic science as directing the others in what they should do. But political science appears to be such, namely, the most important and the most truly architectonic. Therefore, it belongs to it to consider the supreme end.

26. Then, at now such a science (1094a28), he proves what he had taken for granted: that political science is such a science.

First, he proves that it is most truly architectonic;

second, at even though the good (1094b7), that it is most important.

He handles the first statement in two ways.

First, he ascribes to political science or politics the things that belong to an architectonic science.

Second, from this he draws the conclusion he intended, at political science (1094b4).

There are two characteristics of architectonic knowledge.

One is that it dictates what is to be done by the art or science subject to it, as the equestrian art dictates the manner of bridle-making.

The other is that it uses it for its own ends.

Now, the first of these is applicable to politics or political science both in regard to speculative sciences and in regard to practical sciences—in different ways, however. Political science dictates to a practical science both in the matter of its activity—that is, whether or not it should operate—and in regard to the objects to which its operation is to be directed. It dictates to the smith not only that he use his skill but also that he use it in such a fashion as to make knives of a particular kind. Both are ordered to the end of human living.

27. But political science dictates to a speculative science only as to activity, and not concerning the specification of its proper activity, for, political science orders that some teach or learn geometry. For, actions of this kind, insofar as they are voluntary, belong to the matter of ethics and can be ordered to the goal of human living. But the political ruler does not dictate to geometry what conclusions it should draw about a triangle, for this is not subject to the human will, nor can it be ordered to human living, but it depends on the very nature of things. Therefore, he says that political science ordains which sciences (both practical and speculative) should be studied in a state, who should study them, and for how long.

28. The other characteristic of an architectonic science, the use of subordinate sciences, belongs to political science only in reference to the practical sciences. Hence, he adds that we see the most highly esteemed (that is, the noblest) skills (that is, the operative arts) fall under political science—for example, strategy, domestic economy, and rhetoric (1094a28). Political science uses such skills for its own end—that is, for the common good of the state.

29. Then, at political science in fact (1094b4), he draws a conclusion from two premises. He says that, since political science uses the other practical sciences, as already noted [28], and since it legislates what is to be done and what omitted, as previously stated [27], it follows that the end of this science as architectonic embraces (or contains under itself) the ends of other practical sciences. Hence, he concludes, the end of political science is the good of man, that is, the supreme end of human things.

30. Then, at even though the good be the same (1094b7), he shows that political science is the most important science from the very nature of its special end. It is evident that, insofar as a cause is prior and more powerful, it extends to more effects. Hence, insofar as the good, which has the nature of a final cause, is more powerful, it extends to more effects. So, even though the good be the same objective for one man and for the whole state, it seems much better and more perfect to attain (that is, to procure) and preserve the good of the whole state than the good of any one man. Certainly it is a part of that love that should exist among men that a man preserve the good even of a single human being. But it is much better and more divine that this be done for a whole people and for states. It is even sometimes desirable that this be done for one state only, but it is much more divine that it be done for a whole people that includes many states. This is said to be more divine because it shows greater likeness to God who is the ultimate cause of all good. But this good common to one or to several states is the object of our inquiry, that is, of the particular skill called political science. Hence, to it, as the most important science, belongs in a most special way the consideration of the ultimate end of human life.

31. But we should note that he says political science is the most important not simply, but in that division of practical sciences that are concerned with human things, the ultimate end of which political science considers. The ultimate end of the whole universe is considered in theology, which is the most important without qualification. He says that it belongs to political science to treat the ultimate end of human life. This, however, he discusses here, since the matter of this book covers the fundamental notions of political science.

Qualities of the Student and Teacher

Our study will be adequately treated if it is investigated according to the nature of the subject matter. The same certitude should not be sought in all discussions, just as the same exactness should not be expected in all the productions of art. Now, good and just deeds, with which political science is concerned, are differently and mistakenly judged to such a degree that none of them seems to be good and just by nature, but merely by disposition of law. Because of bad judgment, many have been harmed even by good things: some men have lost their lives by reason of riches, others by reason of physical courage.

It is desirable, therefore, when treating of these variable subjects and when arguing from them as premises, to bring out roughly the outlines of the truth, and to conclude about those things which occur in the majority of cases. [32]

The student ought to take whatever is taught in this same spirit, for it is proper to an educated man to look for as much certitude in each study as the nature of the subject admits. It approximates the same thing to allow a mathematician to use rhetorical arguments and to demand conclusive demonstrations from a rhetorician. [36]

Now, every man is a good judge of the things he knows. Accordingly, then, one educated in a particular subject judges well what belongs to that subject. But the man who is well-educated in all subjects can judge well about all. [37]

In keeping with this, a young man is not a good student of political science, for he is inexperienced in the ways of life that are the starting point and subject matter of this science. [38]

Furthermore, because he is strongly influenced by his emotions, he will study political science without result and uselessly, for the end of this science is not knowledge, but human action. Nor does it matter whether the student be immature in age or immature in character,

for the deficiency is not due to time, but to a life lived according to the passions and to the pursuit of each object of passion. Such men gain no profit from their knowledge; and the same is true of the incontinent. [39]

But it will certainly be very useful to have a knowledge of moral matters for those who desire and act according to the dictates of reason. To sum up what has been treated in the introduction: we have discussed the student, the method of demonstrating, and the purpose of our science. [41]

32. Our study will be adequately treated. After the Philosopher has shown what is the good principally intended in this science, he now determines the method proper to this science.

He does this first on the part of the teacher;

second, at the student ought to take (1094b22; [36]), on the part of the student.

In regard to the first, he lays down this reason. The method of manifesting truth in any science ought to be suitable to the subject matter of that science. He shows this from the fact that certitude cannot be found, nor should it be sought, in the same degree in all discussions where we reason about anything. Likewise, the same method is not used in all productions (that is, in things made by art); but each workman works with the material in a way suited to that material—in one way with the soil, in another with clay, in still another with metal. Now, the matter of moral study is of such a nature that perfect certitude is not suitable to it. He shows this from two classes of things that seem to belong to the material with which moral study is concerned.

33. In the matter of morals, the first and foremost place is held by virtuous works. They are called just deeds and are the chief concern of political science. Regarding them, there are no agreed opinions, but rather a decided difference is found in what men judge about them. In this matter, a variety of errors occur, for certain actions that are considered just and good by some are looked upon as unjust and bad by others, according to different times and places and persons. Now, a deed is considered vicious at one time and in one country, but at a different time and in a different country it is not considered to be so. Because of this disagreement, it happens that some are of the opinion that no action is just or good by nature, but only by disposition of law. We shall treat more fully of this opinion in the second book of this work [245–54].

34. Second, external goods that are used purposively by men have a moral consideration. In regard to them, it happens that we find the mistake just mentioned inasmuch as these material goods are not always used in the same way by everyone. Some men are helped by them, while others indeed are harmed by them. Many are ruined by having riches—for instance, those who are murdered by robbers. Some, by reason of their physical courage on which they rely, have carelessly exposed themselves to dangers. Thus it is evident that moral matters are variable and divergent, not having the same certitude each time.

35. Because, in the art of demonstrative science, principles must conform to conclusions, it is desirable and preferable when treating of such variable things, and when proceeding from premises likewise variable, to bring out the truth first roughly by applying universal principles to singulars and by proceeding from the simple (universal) to the complex (particular) where acts are concerned. For it is necessary in every practical science to proceed in a composite (deductive) manner. On the contrary, in speculative science, it is necessary to proceed in an analytical manner by breaking down the complex into elementary principles.

Second, we should bring out the truth in outline—that is, an approximation to the truth. This is to proceed from the proper principles of this science. Moral science treats the acts of the will, and the thing moving the will is not only the good, but even fictitious good.

Third, we must speak of events as they happen in the majority of cases, that is, of voluntary acts that proceed from the will, inclined perhaps to one alternative rather than another but never operating under compulsion. In these, too, we must proceed in such a way that principles are conformable to conclusions.

36. Then, at the student ought to take (1094b22), he shows that the student must accept this limitation in moral matters. He says that it is proper that each one should take whatever is said to him by another in the same spirit, that is, as the matter warrants. The reason is that a learned (that is, well-instructed) man should look for as much certitude in any matter as the nature of the subject admits. There cannot be as much certainty in variable and contingent matters as in necessary matters, which are always the same. Therefore, the educated man ought not to look for greater or be satisfied with less certitude than is appropriate to the subject under discussion. It seems an equal fault to allow a mathematician to use rhetorical arguments as it is to demand from a rhetorician conclusive demonstrations such as a mathematician should give. But mistakes happen because the method appropriate to the matter is not considered. Mathematics is concerned with matter in which perfect certitude is found. Rhetoric, however, deals with political matter where a variety of views occurs.

37. Then, at now, every man (1094b27), he shows what sort of person the student of this science ought to be.

First, he shows who is an incompetent student;

second, at furthermore (1095a4; [39]), who is an unprofitable student;

and third, at but it will certainly (1095a10; [41]), he explains the characteristics of the ideal student.

In respect to the first, he does two things.

First, he introduces certain things necessary to explain his proposition. He states that each man can judge well only the things he knows. Thus, a man educated in one particular subject can judge well what belongs to that subject. But the man who is well-educated in all subjects can judge well about all, without restriction to a particular subject.

38. Second, at in keeping with this (1095a2), he proves his statement, namely, that a young man is not a good student of political science, nor of any part of moral science comprised under political science, because as was said [37], a man can judge well only the things he knows. Now, every student should make good judgments about what he studies, so that he may accept what is true but not what is false. Therefore, no one can be a good student unless he has some knowledge of what he ought to study. But a young man does not have a knowledge of things belonging to moral science, which are known mostly by experience. A young man is inexperienced in the ways of life because of the very brevity of his life, while the principles of moral science proceed from what pertains to and also treats of the actions of human life. For instance, if it be said that the generous man keeps the cheaper things for himself and makes a present of the more expensive to others, a young man will perhaps judge this not to be true because of inexperience. It is the same with other social dealings. Hence, it is evident that a young man is not a good student of political science.

39. Then, at furthermore (1095a4), he shows who is an unprofitable student of this science. Here we must consider that moral science teaches men to follow reason and to refrain from the things to which the passions incline, such as concupiscence, anger, and the like. Toward these, men are inclined in two ways.

In one way by choice—for instance, when a man of set purpose intends to satisfy his concupiscence. Such a one he calls a slave of his emotions.

In another way, when a man resolves to abstain from harmful pleasures but is sometimes overcome by the urge of passion, such that, contrary to his resolution, he follows the promptings of passion. A man of this type is said to be incontinent.

40. He affirms, then, that the one who is ruled by the emotions will study this science in vain (that is, without any result) and uselessly without attaining its proper end. The end of this science is not knowledge alone, which those enslaved to passion can perhaps gain. But the end of this science, as of all practical sciences, is human action. Now, those who follow the emotions do not attain virtuous acts. Thus, in regard to this, it makes no difference whether the student of this science is immature in age or immature in character—that is, a slave of the emotions. The reason is that, just as the person immature in age fails to achieve the end of this science that is knowledge, so the immature in character fails to achieve the end that is action. His deficiency is not due to time, but to the fact that he lives according to his emotions, seeking everything to which the emotions incline. Now, for such men, the knowledge of this science is useless; the same may be said of the incontinent who do not act in accord with their knowledge of moral matters.

41. Then, at but it will certainly (1095a10), he indicates the good student of this science. He says that it is very useful to have a knowledge of moral matters for those who regulate their desires and act in externals according to the dictates of reason.

42. Finally, in the conclusion, he sums up what has been discussed in the introduction [1–41]. He states that certain things have been said in a preliminary manner about the student, which was treated last.

He also states what is the method of demonstrating, which was treated in the middle of the introduction.

Finally, he states what is our purpose, that is, what is the principal aim of this science. This was treated first.

Opinions About Happiness

Since all knowledge and choice have some good for their objective, let us ask on resuming our inquiry what it is that we call the objective of political science, the highest good of all human actions. [43]

As to the name, nearly all agree, for both the common people and the educated say it is happiness. They identify happiness with living well and acting well. [44]

But, as to where happiness is to be found, men are at variance. The multitude differs from the philosophers, for the people generally think that happiness consists in something apparent and obvious such as pleasure or riches or honors; some place it in one of these, others in another; and oftentimes even the same person shifts his position.

For instance, the sick man thinks happiness is found in health, and the poor man considers that it is found in riches, while men conscious of their own ignorance esteem those happy who give utterance to lofty ideas that are above their comprehension.

Some philosophers [Platonists] were of the opinion that, over and above the many goods, there exists an absolute good that is the cause of goodness in all other things. [46]

It is perhaps vain to examine all these opinions, and it will be sufficient to give special attention to those that appear probable on the surface or are thought by many to have some probability. [50].

In this matter, we should be aware of the difference in arguments, some of which proceed from principles, and others to principles. Previously, Plato had learnedly discussed the subject when he examined the question of whether we proceed from or to principles, like athletes in the race-course running from or toward the judges.

In either case we must start from things known. Now, these are of two kinds, namely, things known to us and things known absolutely. Presumably then, we should begin from what is known to us. [51]

One who is going to devote himself seriously to the study of good and just deeds and to political affairs in general ought to have been accustomed to a virtuous life. This will serve as a principle, and if it be adequate, he will have no need to know the reasons for virtuous conduct. A student with this upbringing will discover working principles within himself or readily acquire them from someone else. The man, however, who can do neither of these things should listen to the verdict of Hesiod.

That man, the poet says, is best who understands everything by himself; and that man good who takes what is well said by another. But he who neither himself understands nor takes to heart what he hears from another is indeed a useless fellow. [53]

43. Since all knowledge and choice. Having finished the introduction, Aristotle here begins the treatise on the science itself.

He divides the treatise into three parts.

In the first part, he investigates happiness, which is the supreme human good, and he comes to the conclusion from a study of the subject that happiness is activity flowing from virtue.

In the second part, he discusses virtues, at if, then, happiness is a kind of operation according to perfect virtue (1102a5; [224]).

In the third part, he completes his treatise on happiness, explaining which operation it is and of what nature. This he does in the tenth book, at after these matters, we ought perhaps next to discuss pleasure (1172a19; [1953]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he explains his intention.

Second, at as to the name (1095a17; [44]), he carries it out.

Resuming what he was investigating before [9–13], he first says that, since all knowledge and choice aim at some good—that is, are ordered to some desired good as an end—we must discuss the nature of that good to which political science is ordered. Such is the highest good of all actions, that is, the highest among those attainable by human operation. Moreover, it was said above [18] that these two notions must be studied about the ultimate end of human good: what it is—this is here proposed for consideration—and to what science it belongs, which was treated above in the introduction [25–30].

44. Next, at as to the name (1095a17), he treats happiness. He proceeds here in two steps.

First, he investigates the opinions of others about happiness.

Second, at let us return again to a consideration (1097a15; [103]), he states his own opinion.

In regard to the initial point, he does two things.

First, he gives the opinions of others about happiness.

Second, at let us return to the subject (1095b14; [55]), he examines these opinions.

He handles the first point in two ways.

Initially, he presents opinions about the ultimate end of human actions.

Then, at it is perhaps vain (1095a28; [50]), he points out how we should examine opinions of this kind.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

He indicates the aspects of general agreement;

and then, at but, as to where happiness (1095a20; [46]), he shows in what way there is disagreement.

45. In the beginning, he presents two points on which there is general agreement about the ultimate end.

First, at as to the name (1095a17), he asserts that both the many—that is, the common people—and the cultured or philosophers name happiness the highest human good.

Second, they have a common understanding of the term because all consider that living well and acting well are identified with being happy.

46. Then, at but, as to where happiness (1095a20), he shows in what respect the opinions of men differ about happiness. He affirms that, especially about the nature of happiness, men are at variance, holding different opinions. This difference is threefold.

First of all, the multitude does not think in this matter like the philosophers. People commonly consider that happiness consists in something apparent and obvious among the objects of sense, which alone are evident to the multitude and, therefore, so obvious as not to need exhaustive search—such as pleasure, riches, honor, and the like. The views of the philosophers on this point are given later [49].

47. The second difference is found among the common people themselves. Some of them place happiness in one sensible good, others in another. The avaricious place it in riches, the self-indulgent in pleasures, and the ambitious in honors.

48. The third difference arises from the end in itself. Since it is characteristic of the ultimate end that it be greatly desired, people consider that to be happiness which is desired most of all. Now, need of a good increases the desire for it, and so the sick man who lacks health judges the supreme good to be health; the beggar looks upon riches in the same way. Likewise, those who are conscious of their own ignorance esteem as happy others who give utterance to lofty ideas that are above the comprehension of the ignorant. All this pertains to the opinion of the multitude.

49. But some among the philosophers, the Platonists, were of the opinion that, over and above the many different sensible goods, there exists one that is good in itself and that is the separated essence of goodness itself. As the separated form of man was called by them “man in himself,” so the separated good was “good in itself,” and this is the cause of the goodness of all other things, as they partake of that highest good.

50. Then, at it is perhaps vain (1095a28), he shows how we should proceed in our investigation of the aforesaid opinions.

He handles the discussion in three steps.

First, he shows which of these opinions we ought to investigate.

Second, at in this matter, we should (1095a30; [51]), he shows in what order we should do this.

Third, at one who is going to devote himself seriously (1095b4; [53]), he shows how the student should be disposed so that he may properly understand what is taught.

He says, then, that to examine all opinions men hold about happiness would be useless for a good philosopher, inasmuch as some of them are altogether unreasonable. But it suffices to examine at most the opinions that on the surface are probable either because they give that appearance or at least are considered to have weight by many.

51. Then, at in this matter, we should be aware (1095a30), he shows in what order we must discuss opinions of this sort, and in general all moral matters. He points out a difference in the manner of reasoning. There are some argumentations proceeding from principles—that is, from causes to effects, such as demonstrations of the reasoned fact (propter quid). On the contrary, there are other argumentations proceeding from effects to causes or principles. These do not produce a demonstration of the reasoned fact, but only of the fact (quia). This distinction was previously made by Plato when he inquired whether we should proceed from or to principles. Then, he offers this example from the race-course. In order to judge athletes running in a race, certain agonothetes or judges were stationed at the beginning of the course. Sometimes the athletes started from the judges and ran to the finishing line, and sometimes they started from the end and ran toward the judges. Likewise, there is a twofold order in the process of reasoning.

52. In order to know the order of procedure in any subject we should reflect that it is necessary to begin from what is better understood. Through things better known, we arrive at a knowledge of things unknown. Now things are said to be better known in two ways.

Some are better known in regard to us, such as the composite and the sensible.

Others are better known absolutely and in themselves, as the simple and the intelligible.

Because we acquire knowledge by reasoning, we must proceed from what is better known to us. Now, if the better known absolutely are the same as the better known to us, the reason proceeds from principles as in mathematics. If, however, the better known absolutely are different from the better known to us, then we must use the effect-to-cause procedure, as in the natural and moral sciences.

53. Then, at one who is going (1095b4), he shows how a student of such subjects should be disposed. He says that, since in moral matters we ought to begin from what is better known to us, that is, from certain effects noted about human acts, a man who wishes to be a competent student of moral science must be well-informed and experienced in the ways of human living—namely, about external good and just actions or works of virtue—and in general about all civil matters like laws and political affairs and other things of this sort. The reason for this is that, in moral matters, we must take as a principle that a thing is so. For example, we accept from experience and custom that concupiscence is overcome by fasting.

54. If this is obvious to someone, it is not so necessary for him in acting to understand the total explanation. Thus, to effect a cure, a physician need know only that this medicine cures a particular malady. But to know the reason, we must have a scientific knowledge that is sought chiefly in speculative sciences. Now such a one—namely, one who is skilled in human affairs—either discovers working principles for himself and sees them as self-evident or readily acquires them from someone else. But a man about whom neither of these things can be correctly said should listen to the verdict of the poet Hesiod. He calls that man “best” who can understand by himself, and that man “good” who takes what is said by another. But the man who is capable neither of understanding by himself nor of bearing in mind what he hears from another is useless as far as acquiring a science is concerned.

Examination of the Opinions

Let us return to the subject from which we have digressed. Some seem to think, not without reason, that the supreme good called happiness is a good belonging to this life. [55]

Now, most men, including some very eminent persons, place happiness in pleasure, and so logically prefer a sensual life. [56]

There are indeed three very prominent types of life: that just mentioned, another called public life, and last the contemplative life. [58]

The majority of men seem quite bestial in choosing to live a life of pleasure. [60]

They justify their choice on the plea that many in high places share the tastes of Sardanapalus. [61]

Men of refinement, on the other hand, and men of action think that the Good is honor [62]

For honor seems to be nearly the whole purpose of public life. [63]

But this seems too superficial to be the good we are looking for. Honor consists in the action of those rendering it, rather than anything in the power of the person honored; while happiness certainly should be a good proper to man and a thing not easily taken from him. [64]

Another reason is that men appear to seek honor to convince themselves of their own good qualities. They strive to be honored by the prudent, by those who know them best and for their virtue. Obviously, then, in their opinion, virtue is a better thing than honor. [65]

From this, someone may conclude that virtue rather than honor is the end of public life. [66]

But apparently virtue too is lacking in perfection, because a man may have a habit of virtue when he is asleep or when he has no opportunity to exercise its acts for a lifetime. [67]

Moreover, he may be subject to evils and very often may be ill-favored by fortune. No one would call such a man happy unless he were merely defending an argumentative position. Enough has now been said, for we treated the subject sufficiently in the Encyclis. [68]

Later on, we shall investigate the third type of life, the contemplative. [69]

As to the accumulator of riches, he lives a life of constraint. [70]

And riches themselves are not the good we seek, for they are merely useful and sought for the sake of something else. Rather, therefore, the things previously treated are considered ends, since they are desired for themselves.

Yet even these are not the supreme good and happiness, although many arguments have been marshalled to prove this. But these discussions must be terminated now. [72]

55. Let us return to the subject. After the Philosopher has recounted the different opinions about happiness, he begins to investigate the truth of these opinions.

First, he examines the opinion of those discussing happiness from the moral point of view who place happiness in some good of this life.

Second, at perhaps it will be better (1096a11; [74]), he examines the opinion of those who do not discuss happiness from the moral point of view, but place it in some separated good.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

He lays down a notion that opinions on this subject have in common;

and next, at now, most men (1095b16; [56]), he begins to investigate the variety of opinions. Then, because the Philosopher seemed to have made a digression from his principal purpose while he was determining the mode of procedure, he returns to the point from which he had digressed, that is, to the opinions about happiness. He asserts that some seem to think, not without reason, that the final good called happiness is a good belonging to this life on the purely human level. This is the goal of all the works of life. Now, means are proportionate to that end. Hence it is probable that happiness is among the number of goods belonging to this life. But what the truth may be in this matter will be indicated later [60, 64–65, 70–72].

56. Next, at now, most men (1095b16), he searches for the truth about the things on which the opinions differ. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he examines the opinions that seem more likely to be true.

Second, at as to the accumulator of riches (1096a5; [70]), he examines an opinion rather remote from the truth.

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he examines the opinion placing happiness in the things that pertain to a life of pleasure.

Second, at men of superior refinement (1095b22; [62]), he examines the opinion placing happiness in the things pertaining to public life.

Third, at later on we shall investigate (1096a4; [69]), he mentions the contemplative life.

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he presents the opinion.

Second, at there are indeed three (1095b17; [58]), he distinguishes three types of life without elaborating on them.

Third, at the majority of men (1095b19; [60]), he examines the truth of the opinion presented.

57. He says, then, in the first place that some men, from the goods of this life, choose pleasure and place happiness in it. They include not only the majority or the common people, who by and large favor pleasure, but also persons eminent either in knowledge and teaching or in uprightness of life. Even the Epicureans, who considered pleasure the highest good, carefully cultivated the virtues. They did so, however, on account of pleasure, that is, for fear their pleasure would be hindered by means of contrary vices. The vice of gluttony, for instance, causes bodily suffering through excessive eating; because of theft, a man is thrown into prison. So different vices are an impediment to pleasure in different ways. Since, then, the ultimate end is exceedingly delectable, they who make pleasure the highest good intensely love the life of pleasure.

58. Then, at there are indeed three (1095b17), he distinguishes three types of life: the sensual just mentioned, the public, and the contemplative. These he calls the most prominent types. For evidence of this, we must now bear in mind what will later be discussed in book 9 [1944–49], that every man thinks his life to be that to which he is most strongly drawn, as the philosopher to philosophizing, the hunter to hunting, and so on. Because man is most strongly drawn to the last end, it is necessary that the types of life be distinguished according to the diversity of the ultimate end. Now, the end has the nature of good, and good is threefold: the useful, the pleasurable, and the virtuous or honorable. Two of these, namely, the pleasurable and the virtuous or honorable, have the nature of end because both are desirable for their own sake. That indeed is called virtuous that is good according to reason, and this has pleasure attached to it. Hence the pleasurable, as distinguished from the virtuous, is called such in reference to the senses. Reason, we must remember, is both speculative and practical.

59. Therefore, that life is called sensual that fixes its end in the pleasures of the senses; and that public which fixes its end in the good of the practical reason, for example, in the exercise of virtuous deeds; and that contemplative which fixes its end in the good of the speculative reason or in the contemplation of truth.

60. Next, at the majority of men (1095b19), he examines the opinion cited above. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he disproves it.

Second, at they justify their choice (1095b21; [61]), he advances a reason why some are drawn to this life.

In regard to the first, we must consider that the sensual life, which fixes its end in sense pleasure, necessarily has to place that end in those very intense pleasures following from the natural operations by which the individual is preserved by eating and drinking and the species by sexual intercourse. Now, pleasures of this kind are found in both men and beasts. It follows, then, that the multitude of men who fix their end in such pleasures seem quite bestial in choosing a life that even the pigs enjoy. If the happiness of man would consist in this, dumb animals enjoying the pleasure of food and sexual intercourse would have to be called happy for the same reason. Assuming that happiness is a characteristically human good, it cannot possibly consist in these things.

61. Then, at they justify their choice (1095b21), he gives the reason why some hold this opinion. He says that the reason they offer is that many in high places, like kings and princes who are considered very happy by the common people, share the tastes of a certain Assyrian king named Sardanapalus, who was much given to sensuality. On this account, it is thought that pleasure is something very good, since it is a thing highly esteemed by the great.

62. At men of superior refinement (1095b22), he investigates opinions concerning the active or public life.

First, he does this in regard to honor;

and second, at from this, someone (1095b30; [66]), in regard to virtue.

This is a reasonable procedure, for the active or public life aims at the honorable good. Now, it is called honorable as pertaining to the state of honor. Hence, both honor itself and virtue, which is the cause of honor, appear to belong to it.

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, in presenting the opinion, he notes that persons of superior refinement—namely, the virtuous and those occupied in the active life—place happiness in honor.

63. Second, at for honor seems (1095b23), he offers a reason for this: the sole purpose of public life appears to be honor, which is rendered as a reward to the politically successful. Therefore, for those engaged in public life, happiness probably seems to consist in honor.

64. Third, at but this seems (1095b23), he disproves this opinion by two reasons.

In the first of these, he says that, in a way, we divine the true nature of happiness; that is, we surmise happiness to be a good proper to the happy man, a thing belonging preeminently to him and taken from him with difficulty. But this is not true of honor, which seems rather to consist in the action of the one rendering the honor and to be in his power rather than in the power of the one honored. Therefore, honor is something more extrinsic and superficial than the good we are seeking, which is happiness.

65. He gives the second reason at another reason (1095b26). Happiness is some very good thing that is not sought on account of another. But there is something better than honor, namely, that on account of which honor is sought. Men appear to seek honor in order to confirm the solid opinion they have formed of themselves that they are good men and that they may be assured of this by the judgment of others. They look, therefore, for honor from prudent men with correct judgment and from those who know them best and can be better judges. Hence, they seek to be honored for their virtue, which is the source of man’s good, as will be shown in book 2 [307–8]. So virtue, for whose sake honor is sought, is a better thing than honor. It follows, then, that happiness does not consist in honor.

66. Then, at from this, someone (1095b30), he investigates the opinion of those who place happiness in virtue.

In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he states the opinion and says that perhaps someone will think, by reason of what was just said, that virtue rather than honor is the end of public life.

67. Second, at but apparently (1095b31), he rejects this for two reasons.

The first is that happiness seems to be a most perfect good. But virtue is not of such a nature, for sometimes it is found without the perfection of activity, as we see in those who are asleep and yet have the habit of virtue. It is possible, too, that a man may have the habit of virtue but, for lack of opportunity, not perform a single act of a particular virtue during his whole life. This is particularly evident regarding magnanimity and magnificence, virtues perhaps possessed by a poverty-stricken person who is never able to perform great deeds. Therefore, virtue is not the same as happiness.

68. He gives the second reason at moreover, he may be (1095b33). It is this: it happens that one who has the habit of virtue may be ill-favored by fortune. Who will call such a man happy except someone obstinately defending a thesis against the plain truth? Therefore, happiness is not the same as virtue. This, he says, is sufficient for his purpose. Enough has been said on the subject in his Encyclis, that is, in certain learned verses that Aristotle composed on happiness.

69. Then, at later on, we shall investigate (1096a4), he mentions the contemplative life, saying that it will be investigated later on in book 10 [2086–2125].

70. At as to the accumulator of riches, he examines another, less probable, opinion that places happiness in a thing that has the nature of a useful good, money. But this is incompatible with the nature of an ultimate end, for a thing is called useful because it is ordered to an end. However, since money has a universal utility in respect of temporal goods, the opinion that places happiness in money has some probability.

71. But he rejects it for two reasons.

The first is that money is acquired under coercion and is parted with under coercion. But this is not in keeping with happiness, which is the goal of voluntary operations. Consequently happiness does not consist in money.

72. He gives the second reason at and riches themselves (1096a6). It is this. We look for happiness as a good that is not sought for the sake of something else. But money is sought for something beyond itself, since it is by its nature a useful good, as was just said [70]. Therefore, happiness does not consist in money.

73. A further conclusion notes that pleasure, honor, and virtue, all of which were treated above [57–72], can be considered ultimate ends at least in the sense that they are sought for themselves, as was said [57, 61, 63, 70]. However, the ultimate end is not to be found in these, as has been shown [57–72], although many arguments have been marshalled by various philosophers to prove that happiness consists in these goods. But these discussions must be terminated.

Happiness and a Separated Good

Perhaps it will be better to investigate thoroughly the existence of the universal good and to inquire about its nature, [74]

even if the investigation has become unpleasant owing to the fact that the doctrine of ideas was introduced by good friends. [75]

However, it seems indeed better, and in fact especially obligatory on philosophers, to sacrifice even the rights of friendship for the sake of truth. While it is commendable to have love for both, we ought to honor truth as sacred above friends. [76]

Those who hold this opinion did not postulate ideas in which priority and posteriority were found. On this account, they made no provision for an idea of numbers. Now, good is found in the category of substance and quality and relation. But being in itself—that is, substance—is naturally prior to being in reference to something else, for the latter is likened to an offspring of being and an accident of it. Therefore, there will not be any common idea for these. [79]

Furthermore, good is convertible with being. For good is predicated of substance, such as God and intellect. It is predicated of quality (such as virtues), of quantity (such as the mean), of relation (such as the useful), of time (such as the opportune), of place (such as a summer-house), and so on. Hence it is obvious that one common idea of good that is universal does not exist. Otherwise, good would not be found in every category but in one alone. [81]

Moreover, because a single science treats things falling under one idea, there would have to be a single science of all good things. But we have many sciences, even of things contained in one category like time, for the opportune is studied in war by strategy, in disease by medicine, and in exercise by gymnastics. [82]

74. Perhaps it will be better. After the Philosopher has rejected the opinion of those who place happiness in one of the obvious goods, here he disproves the opinion of those placing it in a separate good.

In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he shows the necessity of discussing this opinion.

Second, he begins to disprove it, at those who hold this opinion (1096a17; [79]).

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he suggests the advantage of this inquiry.

Second, at even if the investigation (1096a12; [75]), he points out what may seem an unpleasant aspect of the investigation.

Third, at however, it seems (1096a14; [76]), he shows that this should not deter us from seeking the truth.

In regard to the first, we must consider that the separated good, in which the Platonists asserted that man’s happiness consists, was called a universal good. By participation in it, all things are said to be good. Hence, he says that perhaps it is better to investigate thoroughly the existence of this universal good and inquire what its nature is than it is to discuss the opinions mentioned before. The investigation of the good is more philosophical and more properly belongs to the discussion of the true good and the ultimate end than do the opinions considered in themselves. If, however, they be considered according to our stated intention of inquiring about the opinions mentioned above, it would seem to be more in agreement with our plan. On this account, he uses perhaps, an adverb indicating doubt.

75. Then, at even if the investigation (1096a12), he states what might deter him from an investigation of this opinion. He says that the investigation is made reluctantly because the opinion was introduced by friends of his, the Platonists. He himself was a disciple of Plato, and by rejecting this opinion, he might seem to disparage his teacher. He raises the point here rather than in his other works where he likewise rejects the opinion of Plato because the repudiation of the opinion of a friend is not contrary to truth, which is the principal object in speculative sciences. It is, however, contrary to good morals, the subject discussed in this book.

76. Then, at however, it seems indeed better (1096a14), he shows that this consideration ought not to deter him. The reason is that it seems to be better, meaning more honorable and in agreement with good morals, and indeed obligatory, that a man should not hesitate to oppose his friends for the sake of truth. It is so necessary for good morals that, without it, virtue cannot be preserved. Unless a man prefer truth to his friends, it follows that he will make false judgment and bear false witness in their defense. This is contrary to virtue. While reason prescribes that all men should prefer truth to their friends, this holds in a special way for the philosophers, whose calling is to study wisdom, which is knowledge of the truth.

77. That truth should be preferred to friends he proves in this way. He is the greater friend for whom we ought to have the greater consideration. Although we should have friendship for both truth and our fellow man, we ought rather to love truth, because we should love our fellow man especially on account of truth and virtue, as will be shown in book 8 [1575–77]. Now, truth is a most excellent friend of the sort to whom the homage of honor is due. Besides, truth is a divine thing, for it is found first and chiefly in God. He concludes, therefore, that it is virtuous to honor truth above friends.

78. Andronicus the Peripatetic says that piety makes men faithful to and observant of the things of God. Along the same line is the judgment of Plato, who, in rejecting the opinion of his teacher Socrates, says a man ought to care more for truth than anything else. Somewhere else too he affirms that, while Socrates is certainly his friend, truth is still more so. In yet another place, he says that we should have some care for the views of Socrates but more for truth.

79. Then, at those who hold his opinion (1096a17), he rejects the position of Plato, who maintains that the happiness of man consists in a common idea or form of good. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he shows there is no one common idea or form of good.

Second, at but perhaps we should (1096b30; [97]), he shows that, even if there were, human happiness would not consist in it.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows that there cannot be one common idea of good.

Second, at someone will rightly (1096a34; [83]), he examines the manner of speaking used by the Platonists when they talk about this idea.

In regard to the first, we must consider that Aristotle does not intend to reject the opinion insofar as Plato maintained a separated good on which all good would depend. In the Metaphysics,¹ Aristotle expressly mentions a good, separated from the universe, to which the whole universe is ordered as an army is ordered to the good of the general. He does reject the opinion insofar as Plato held that the separated good is an idea common to all goods. He uses three reasons to disprove the opinion.

80. The first of these is taken from the argument of the Platonists themselves, who did not postulate an idea for these classes of things in which priority and posteriority are found, as is the case with numbers, for two is naturally prior to three. So the Platonists did not hold that number in general would have a separated idea. They did, though, place separated ideas for individual numbers, such as two, three, and so on. The reason for this is that the things in which priority and posteriority are found do not seem to be of one order, and consequently do not partake of one idea. But among good things, there is priority and posteriority. This is clear from the fact that good is found in the quod quid est or substance, and likewise in quality and also in other genera. Now, it is evident that what is being in itself, such as substance, is naturally prior to all those things that have being only in relation to substance—as quantity, which is the measure of substance; quality, which is the disposition of substance; and relation, which is the reference of substance. The same is true in other categories that are all, as it were, the offspring of being or substance. This is being in the full sense, and from it are engendered and derived all other genera, which are called being to the extent that they are accidents of a substance. From this he concludes that there cannot be a common idea of good.

81. He lays down the second reason at furthermore, good (1096a23). To understand this, we must know that Plato held the idea to be the ratio (or nature) and essence of all things that partake of the idea. It follows from this that there cannot be one idea of things not having a common nature. But the various categories do not have one common nature, for nothing is predicated of them univocally. Now good, like being, with which it is convertible, is found in every category. Thus, the quod quid est or substance, God, in whom there is no evil, is called good; the intellect, which is always true, is called good. In quality, good is predicated of virtue, which makes its possessor good; in quantity, of the mean, which is the good in everything subject to measure. In relation, good is predicated of the useful, which is good relative to a proper end. In time, it is predicated of the opportune; and in place, of a location suitable for walking, as a summer-house. The same may be said of other categories. It is clear, therefore, that there is not some one good that is the idea or the common notion of all goods. Otherwise, good would not be found in every category but in one alone.

82. He gives the third reason at moreover, because (1096a29). To understand this, we must know the following. Things existing outside the mind, according to Plato, acquire the form of genus or species by participating in the idea, such that the mind does not know a stone except by participating in the idea of stone. The mind in this way partakes of science and knowledge of those things when the forms or ideas of them are impressed in it. It follows that there is a single science of all the things that partake of one idea. If, therefore, there be one idea of all goods, it will belong to the study of one science. But we see that this is false even in regard to the goods belonging to a single category. He adds this for fear that someone may specify sciences according to the diversity of categories. We see, however, that strategy studies the opportune in war, medicine studies it in disease, and gymnastics in exercise. It remains, then, that there is not one common idea of all goods.

An Absolute Good

Someone will rightly ask what they mean in calling anything “absolute” if, in both absolute man and this particular man, there exists one and the same nature, that of man. This is the truth, for they differ in no way as man.

On the same supposition, an absolute good, or a good in itself, and a particular good do not differ as good. [83]

It may not be countered that the good in itself is better because it is eternal, since what endures a long time is not necessarily better by nature than a thing that lasts a day. [85]

A more likely explanation seems to have been given by the Pythagoreans, who place unity in their list of goods. In this, apparently, Speusippus followed them. But further discussion of the point will have to wait. [87]

Contrary to what they have asserted, some doubt arises because their words are not said of every good and yet they do so apply. Now, things are said to be good according to one species of good that is sought and desired for its own sake, and things productive or in some way preservative of these or prohibitive of their contraries are said to be good according to an other species. It is obvious, then, that good is predicated in two ways, for some things are sought for their own sake and some for the sake of others. [89]

From the useful, let us separate good things that are good in themselves and examine whether they can be called good according to one idea. [91]

But what would you have enumerated among goods in themselves? Would you include even all the goods sought for themselves alone, as intelligence, sight, and some types of pleasure and honor? These are sometimes sought for the sake of another, but they always have an intrinsic value.

Otherwise nothing else seems an absolute good except the idea or form. Therefore, the idea will be empty. [93]

If things in themselves are demonstrated as absolute good, then the same nature of goodness will have to appear in all of them as the nature of whiteness in snow and in white lead. But, just as we find different natures in honor, prudence, and pleasure, so too we find differences in goodness. The absolute good is not, therefore, something common according to one idea. [94]

In what way, then, are they to be called good? Not as things purely equivocal. Are they at least to be compared as things referring to one principle or as all tending to one end? Or still better, should we say according to analogy? Indeed, as sight is the good of the body so intellect is the good of the soul, and so of other things. [95]

83. Someone will rightly ask. The Philosopher has shown above that there is no common idea of all goods. But because the separated good is called by the Platonists not only the idea or form of good but also absolute good, Aristotle here intends to inquire whether it is properly called by this name.

In regard to to this, he does two things.

First, he shows that the separated good is not properly named absolute good.

Second, at contrary to what (1096b8; [89]), he shows that to postulate a separated good as absolute is inconsistent with saying that it is the common idea or form of all goods.

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he shows that the separated good is not properly called absolute good.

Second, at it may not be countered (1096b3; [85]), he rules out a particular rejoinder.

Third, at a more likely explanation (1096b5; [87]), he compares this doctrine with the Pythagorean view.

84. In regard to the first, we must consider that the separated good, which is the cause of all goods, ought to be placed in a higher degree of goodness than the good things about us, because the separated good is the ultimate end of all. But it seems that, according to this doctrine, it is not a higher degree in goodness than other goods. This is apparent because the Platonists called each of the separated things “absolute” or “in itself,” like “man in himself” and even “horse in itself.” Now, it is clear that one and the same nature belongs to man who lives among us and to man in himself, that is, ideal man. He proves this by the fact that ideal man and man clothed with matter do not differ as man, but they do differ in certain other respects—for example, this particular man has matter. Thus, the notions of animal and man do not differ in animality but rather in man’s rational principle that he has over and above animality. So, too, it seems that the ideal man does not differ from this particular man in the nature of man, but because this particular man has matter in addition to being man. For the same reason, the good that is called absolute will not have goodness different in nature from this particular good, although there can be a difference in other respects than the nature of good.

85. Then, at it may not (1096b3), he rules out a particular answer. Someone could say that the good in itself is better because it is eternal, while the goods here are perishable. Indeed, a thing that lasts longer does seem better and more desirable. To exclude this, he points out that the good in itself being eternal does not mean that it is better. The eternal differs from the non-eternal by reason of duration, and the difference of duration of a thing is outside the nature of the species, as life that lasts only a day and life more enduring are not different by reason of life, but only by duration. So, then, if good be understood as one species, its duration will be outside the nature of good. The longer duration of a thing then does not make that thing any better.

86. If we do not hold that there is one species or idea of good as the Platonists did, but that good, like being, is predicated in every genus, duration itself will be a good of time. It would, in that case, add something to goodness. Hence, what is more lasting will be better. But this cannot be said if the good is one species in itself. It follows, then, that it is not better because eternal.

87. Then, at a more likely explanation (1096b5), he compares this opinion with that of the Pythagoreans. We must consider that, according to the Platonists, the nature of the one and the good is the same, and so they identified one in itself and good in itself. Hence, they were obliged to postulate one first good. The Pythagoreans did not do this, however, but they put one among the things contained in the list of the good under which they placed light, unity, rest, the straight, masculine, right, finite, equal, and the square; and the contraries are darkness, multitude, motion, curved, feminine, left, infinite, unequal, and the rectangular.

88. He says, therefore, that, on this point, the Pythagoreans gave a more likely explanation than the Platonists, because the Pythagoreans were not compelled to hold one nature for the good. Even Speusippus, who was a son of Plato’s sister and his successor in the Academy, did not follow Plato but Pythagoras on this point. He adds that further discussion of the subject will be taken up in the Metaphysics.¹

89. Then, at contrary to what (1096b8), he shows that the assertion that the separated good is an absolute good or a good in itself is inconsistent with their view that there is one idea or form of all goods. He does three things on this point.

First, he shows that an absolute good cannot be an idea common to all goods.

Second, at from the useful (1096b14; [91]), he shows that there cannot be a common idea of all things called good in themselves.

Third, at in what way (1096b26; [95]), he handles a pertinent query.

He says then in the first place that, contrary to what the Platonists assert, there seems to be a subtle hesitation here. When they speak about the good in itself, it does not seem from the obvious meaning of their words that the discussion concerns every good, but as much can be gathered from the context, because there are various species or forms of goods.

90. Those things sought—that is, pursued or chosen, and desired or loved for themselves—are good according to one species or form of goodness.

Those desired insofar as they are good in some way for the sake of others, which in their turn are really good, are called good for another reason.

In a third way, some things are called good because they prevent the contrary evil.

It is clear, therefore, that good is predicated in two ways. Primary goods are good in themselves. As we have already remarked [9–13, 58], they are sought for themselves. Both of the other things called good—the productive or preservative of good and the restrictive of contrary evil—are called good in reference to things good in themselves. It is obvious, then, that the notion of absolute good is not suited to all goods.

91. Then, at from the useful (1096b14), he shows that the notion of absolute good cannot belong to all goods in themselves.

First, he declares his intention. We must consider that those things that are productive or preservative of goods in themselves, or restrictive of contraries, are called good because they are useful, and the nature of absolute good does not belong to the merely useful. Let us, then, separate from these useful things the things that are in themselves good and see whether they can be designated good according to one form, which is called absolute good.

92. Second, at but what would you (1096b16), he investigates this last point by proposing a question: what kinds of things should be considered goods in themselves? He presents this question in two parts.

In the first, he asks whether we are to call absolute whatever goods are sought for themselves alone to the exclusion of all others, so that they are not ordered to any further use. Such would be sight and certain kinds of pleasure and honors. These things are sometimes sought for the sake of something else to which they are useful, but even if they have no use beyond themselves, they are good and desirable in themselves.

The second part of the question asks whether there is any other absolute good besides the idea or form itself.

93. Third, at therefore, the idea (1096b20), he resolves the second part just mentioned. He concludes that, if nothing else be a good in itself except the idea, then the idea will be a kind of exemplar whose likeness will be impressed on others. An exemplar is useless if it has no likeness to something else. Hence, it follows that the idea is useless if there is no other good in itself.

94. Fourth, at if things in themselves (1096b21), he resolves the first part in this way. If all the aforementioned things are good in themselves by partaking of the idea that is itself good, the same nature of goodness must appear in all of them, as we find the same nature of whiteness in snow and in white lead from the fact that they share in the one form. But this apparently is not true of the things mentioned above. Honor, prudence, and pleasure differ in their natures—that is, the nature of honor precisely as honor differs from the nature of prudence as prudence. Moreover, the nature of honor as a good differs from the nature of prudence as it is a good. There is not, then, one nature of goodness in all good things, nor are they all desirable under the same aspect. Hence it remains that what is called absolute good is not something common as one idea or form common to all goods.

95. Then, at in what way (1096b26), he handles a pertinent query. This inquiry belongs here, since predication according to different reasons is made in the first of two ways according to meanings that are without any relation to any one thing. These are purely equivocal, because it happens by chance that the same word has been used by one person for one thing and then by someone else for an entirely different thing, as is plainly evident in the case of different men having the same name.

In another way, one word is used of several things with meanings not entirely different but having some sort of common likeness.

Sometimes they agree in referring to one principle, as a thing is called “military” because it is a soldier’s weapon (like a sword), or his clothing (like a uniform), or his transportation (like a horse).

Sometimes they agree in referring to one end. Thus, medicine is called “healthy” because it produces health, diet is called “healthy” because it preserves health, and urine in its turn is called “healthy” because it is a sign of health.

Sometimes the agreement is according to a different proportion to the same subject, as quality is called “being” because it is a disposition of a being in itself—that is, a substance—and quantity because it is a measure of substance, and so on.

Or the agreement is according to one proportion to different subjects. For instance, sight has the same proportion to the body as intellect to the soul. Hence, as sight is a power of a physical organ, so also is the intellect a power of the soul without the participation of the body.

96. In this fashion, therefore, he affirms that “good” is predicated of many things not with meanings entirely different, as happens with things completely equivocal, but according to analogy or the same proportion, inasmuch as all goods depend on the first principle of goodness—that is, as they are ordered to one end. Aristotle indeed did not intend that the separated good be the idea and notion of all goods, but their principle and end. Likewise, all things are called good by an analogy or the same proportion, just as sight is the good of the body and intellect is the good of the soul. He prefers this third way because it is understood according to goodness inherent in things. The first two ways, however, are ascribed to a separated goodness, from which a thing is not so properly denominated.

Happiness Not Sought in the Separated Good

But perhaps we should now leave these subjects, for a precise determination of them properly belongs to another branch of philosophy. The same, too, may be said about the idea. [97]

Even if there is some one good univocally predicated or if a separated good in itself does exist, it is obvious that it is not a thing produced or possessed by man. Now it is a good of this kind that we are looking for. [98]

Perhaps some will think it better for the sake of the goods produced or possessed to obtain a knowledge of the separated good. Using this as a guide, we will have a more thorough understanding of the objects that are good for us, and thus enlightened, we may acquire them. [99]

This reasoning certainly has some probability, although it does not seem to square with what we observed in the sciences. While sciences tend to some good and seek the necessary, they all neglect to use a knowledge of the separated good.

But it is not reasonable to suppose that all artists and scientists would be ignorant of and would fail to seek a thing so advantageous to themselves. [100]

Indeed, the separated good would be useless. What help does a knowledge of it afford a weaver and a carpenter in the practice of their trades? Or how is a man a better doctor or a better soldier by studying the idea itself? A doctor surely is not intent on health so understood, but on the health of man in the concrete, or even better perhaps on the health of this man. It is the individual man whom a doctor intends to cure. Enough has now been said on these topics. [101]

97. But perhaps we should now leave. After the Philosopher has explained that there is no common idea of good, now he shows that, even if there were, it would not follow that happiness would have to be sought according to it.

In regard to this, he does three things.

First, he presents a proof of his position.

Second, at perhaps some will think (1096b35; [99]), he gives an apparent rejoinder.

Third, at this reasoning certainly (1097a3; [100]), he refutes it.

He says first that this, namely the manner of predicating good according to one or different reasons, must now be put aside because more accurate study of the matter properly belongs to another branch of philosophy, namely, metaphysics. Likewise, the consideration of the idea of good is not pertinent to our purpose. As reason for these statements, he maintains that, if there were one good univocally predicated of all, or even if a separated good did exist in itself, it would obviously not be a thing produced or possessed by man. Now it is precisely such a thing we are seeking.

98. We are looking for the happiness that is the end of human acts. The end of man, however, is either something he does or some external thing. This can be the end of man because either it is produced, as a house is the end of building, or it is possessed, as a thing that is used. Now, it is clear that the common or separated good cannot be the operation itself of man, nor is it something produced by man. Moreover, it does not seem to be something possessed by man as he possesses things used in this life. Obviously, then, the common or separated good is not the good of man that is the object of our present search.

99. Then, at perhaps some will think (1096b35), he gives an apparent rejoinder. Someone might say that the separated good, although not produced or possessed by man, nevertheless is the pattern of all the good produced and possessed. Now, one who wishes to understand the copies ought to know the pattern. So it would seem that one should know the separated good itself for the sake of the goods produced and possessed. The reason is that, having the separated good as a guide, we will be better able to know, and consequently, better able to acquire, the things that are good for us, as an artist looking at a model is better able to paint a likeness.

100. Then, at this reasoning certainly (1097a3), he refutes this response by two reasons.

The first he takes from ordinary observation. While the reason given seems probable, he says that it does not appear to be in agreement with what we observe in other sciences. All sciences and arts tend to some good, as we said above [8], and to attain the end aimed at, each uses what is necessary for itself. None of them, though, use the knowledge of this separated good. This would not be reasonable if some advantage could be derived from it. Therefore, the knowledge of this separated good contributes nothing to the goods produced and possessed.

101. He offers a second reason at indeed, the separated good would be useless (1097a8). This is taken from the very nature of the thing. He states that the good under consideration is altogether useless for the sciences and the arts, both in regard to their exercise, since a weaver or a carpenter is in no way aided in the practice of his art by a knowledge of that separated good, and in regard to the acquisition of a science or an art. No one becomes a better physician or a better soldier because he has studied the separated form of good. The reason he assigns is that an exemplar, at which it is necessary to gaze, must be in conformity with the work produced. Art, however, does not produce some good in common or an abstract good, but a good that is concrete and individual. A physician does not intend health in the abstract, but in the concrete, the health of this particular man. He does not give medicine to mankind in general, but to this individual man. We must conclude, then, that the knowledge of a universal and separated good is not needed either for the acquisition or for the exercise of the sciences.

102. On this note, he concludes his discussion of the opinions offered about happiness.

The Nature of Happiness

Let us return again to a consideration of the good we are seeking in order to find out what it is. It seems that the good differs in different operations and arts. In medicine it is one good, in war it is another, and in other arts, still other goods. As the thing sought in every activity, the good is the end for the sake of which other things are done. This will be health in medicine, victory in war, a building in architecture, and something else in some other art. In every activity and choice, there is an end, with the agent doing everything he does for the sake of that end. Therefore, if there is an end for all that we do, this will be the good intended. If there are many ends, there will be many goods, and in this case, our discussion will go beyond the many until it arrives at that supreme good. [103]

We must make a considerable effort to give this a fuller explanation. Apparently there are many ends, some of which we choose for the sake of something else, like riches, flutes, and in general all instruments. It is obvious, then, that not all ends are perfect. But the ultimate end appears to be perfect. Therefore, if there be only one of this kind, it will be what we are looking for. If there are a number of goods, then it is the most perfect of these. Now we call that object that is desired for its own sake more perfect than one that is desired for some further purpose. That which is never desired for any further utility is more perfect than the things desirable in themselves and for the sake of this further purpose. In the event that the object is perfect without qualification, it will always be desirable for itself and never for anything beyond itself. Happiness, in fact, seems especially to be of this nature, for we choose it in every case for itself and never for something else. Honor and pleasure and knowledge and every virtue we do indeed choose for themselves, for we would choose every one of them even if no advantage accrued to us. But we choose them also on account of happiness, because we hope to become happy. On the other hand, no one chooses happiness for the sake of these goods or for any other good whatsoever. [107]

The same seems to follow from the viewpoint of self-sufficiency, for the perfect good apparently is self-sufficient. We call it self-sufficienty as adequate not only for a man living a solitary life by himself but also for his parents, children, wife, friends in general, and fellow citizens, because this good naturally will include man’s social life. But some limitation must be placed on the number provided for, since the extension to relatives, neighbors, and friends might go on without limit. We must return to examine this question later. Now, we call that self-sufficient which, taken alone, makes life desirable and lacking nothing. In our opinion, happiness is of this nature. [112]

Moreover, happiness without further addition will be the most desirable of all things. With any addition, it will certainly be more desirable even though the addition be ever so slight. The reason is that the addition has increased the good, and a greater good is always more desirable. Therefore, happiness as the end of all human actions is the perfect self-sufficient good. [115]

103. Let us return again to a consideration. After the Philosopher has thoroughly discussed the opinions of others about happiness, he now gives his own opinion on the subject.

He divides this treatment into two parts.

In the first, he shows what happiness is.

In the second, at having settled these matters (1101b10; [213]), he treats a particular property of happiness.

He makes a twofold division of the first part.

In the first division, he shows what happiness is.

In the second, at many changes take place (1100a5; [177]), he solves a particular problem.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows what happiness is.

Second, at in our study of the principles (1098b9; [139]), he shows that everything said about happiness is in agreement with this doctrine.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he proposes some general notions and conditions of happiness that are obvious to nearly everyone.

Second, at but to say that happiness (1097b22; [118]), he inquires into the nature of happiness.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he states that happiness is the ultimate end.

Second, at we must make (1097a24; [107]), he lays down the conditions belonging to the ultimate end.

104. Therefore, he says first that, after completing the treatise on the opinions of others [43–102], we must again return to a consideration of the good that is the subject of our inquiry—happiness—to find out what it is. Our first consideration about it must be that, in different activities and arts, the good sought differs. In the medical art, the good sought is health, and in the military art victory, and in other arts some other good.

105. If it be asked what good is sought in every art and in every activity, we must know that it is the object for the sake of which all other things are done. In medicine, everything is done on account of health; in war, everything is done on account of victory; and in architecture, everything is done for the sake of the building to be constructed. Likewise, in every other activity the good sought is some one thing for the sake of which all other things are done. This good, the object of every activity or choice, is called “the end,” for the end is nothing else than that for the sake of which other things are done.

106. If, therefore, there should be some end immediately apparent to which all the products of all arts and human activities are directed, such an end will be the good unqualifiedly sought, that is, the thing intended in all human operations. But if at this point many goods arise to which the different ends of different arts are ordered, our reason will have to inquire beyond this number until it arrives at this one thing, that is, some obvious good. There must be, indeed, one ultimate end for man precisely as man because of the unity of human nature, just as there is one end for a physician as physician because of the unity of the art of medicine. This ultimate end of man is called the human good, which is happiness.

107. Then, at we must make (1097a24), he lays down two conditions of the ultimate end:

the first is that it be a perfect thing;

the second, that it be self-sufficient, at the same seems to follow (1097b6; [112]).

The ultimate end is the ultimate term of desire’s natural inclination. But in order that something be the ultimate term of natural inclination, two things are required.

First, that it be a thing actually having a species and not on the way to having a species. The generation of fire, for instance, is not terminated at the disposition to the form, but at the form itself. Now a thing that has form is perfect, but a thing that is merely disposed to a form is imperfect. Therefore, the good that is the ultimate end must be a perfect good.

Second, the term of the natural inclination must be integral, since nature is not deficient in necessary things. Hence, the end of human generation is not a deformed man, but a perfect man. Likewise, the ultimate end that is the term of desire must be self-sufficient as an integral good.

108. In regard to the perfection of a final good, we must consider that, as an agent moves toward the end, so the end moves the desire of the agent. Hence, the gradations of the ends must be in proportion to the gradations of the agent. Now an agent may be of three kinds.

One, the most imperfect, does not operate by its own form, but only insofar as moved by another, as a hammer forges a blade. Hence, the effect in the acquired form is not like this agent, but like the one who moves the agent.

Another, a perfect agent, operates indeed according to its form, such that the effect is like it, as fire gives off heat, but nevertheless it must be moved by some prior principal agent. In this respect it partakes imperfectly of the nature of an instrument.

A third agent, the most perfect, operates according to its own form and is not moved by any other.

109. The same is true in the order of ends. There we find an object desired not on account of some formal goodness existing in itself, but only as useful for something else like bitter medicine. We find also that an object is indeed desirable on account of what it is, but besides, it is desired for something else, like sweet-tasting medicine. This is better than the first. But the most perfect good is that which is so desired for its own sake that it is never desired for the sake of anything else. Here, then, the Philosopher distinguishes three degrees of good. He says, as we have just stated [107–9], that we must give a more complete explanation of the ultimate end by examining the conditions required for it.

110. There are also, it seems, many degrees of ends. Some of these we choose purely for the sake of something else, such as riches, which are sought for their utility in human living. A flute, on which music is made, is another example. All such instruments are ends sought merely because of their usefulness. It is obvious that such ends are imperfect. The best end—namely, the ultimate end—must be perfect. Therefore, if there is only one such end, it must be the ultimate end we are looking for. If, however, there are many perfect ends, the most perfect of these should be the best and the ultimate. What is desirable in itself is more perfect than what is desirable because of another. It clearly follows, then, that what is never desired for some thing beyond itself is more perfect than the things that, although sought for themselves, are also sought as a means.

111. Therefore, that is absolutely perfect which is always desirable for itself and never for another. But happiness appears to be of this nature, for we never seek it for something else, but always for itself. We do choose honor, pleasure, knowledge, and virtue for themselves. We would choose them or have a desire for them even if no other good would come to us through them. In fact, we choose them for happiness precisely because we think we will be happy in having them. But no one chooses happiness for them or for anything else. We conclude, then, that happiness is the most perfect good, and consequently the ultimate and best end.

112. Then, at the same seems, he treats the self-sufficiency of happiness,

first in regard to that which pertains to the nature of sufficiency,

and second, at moreover, happiness (1097b16; [115]), as regards the prefix “self.”

He says first that the same conclusion seems to follow from self-sufficiency as does from perfection: happiness is the best and the ultimate end. Indeed, the latter two follow one another, for the perfect good seems to be self-sufficient. If it is not sufficient in some particular, it does not perfectly satisfy desire, and so it will not be the perfect good. It is called a self-sufficient good not because it suffices merely for one man living a solitary life, but also for his parents, children, wife, friends, and fellow citizens as well, so that it will adequately provide the necessities in temporal matters and instruction and counsel in spiritual matters for them. Such extension is required because man is a social animal, and his desire is not satisfied in providing for himself, but he wants to be in a position to take care of others. This, however, must be understood within limits.

113. If someone should want to extend such care not only to his own relatives and friends but even to the friends of his friends, this would go on indefinitely such that no one could have a sufficiency, and therefore no one could be happy if happiness would require such infinite sufficiency. In this work, the Philosopher speaks of happiness as it is attainable in this life, for happiness in a future life is entirely beyond the investigation of reason. To what extent a man needs a sufficiency to be happy will have to be investigated again elsewhere, namely, in domestic ethics or in political science.

114. Because he has already shown [112–13] that the perfect good called happiness ought to be sufficient not for one man alone but for all whose care is incumbent upon him, next he explains the nature of what is called self-sufficient. He says that the self-sufficient is that which, even when had by itself, makes life desirable and free from want. Happiness does this eminently, otherwise it would not terminate the inclination of desire if something that man needed remained outside it. Certainly everyone in need desires to have what he lacks. Hence, it is clear that happiness is a self-sufficient good.

115. Then, at moreover, happiness (1097b16), he explains the nature of self-sufficiency as regards the expression “self.” A thing is said to be self-sufficient when, taken apart from other things, it is sufficient. This can happen in two ways.

First, this happens in such a manner that the perfect good, which is called self-sufficient, would be incapable of receiving an increase of goodness from another—a condition of the being that is totally good, God. As an additional part is not greater than the whole, since the part itself is included in the whole, so too any good whatsoever added to God does not increase his goodness, because the addition is good only by participating in the divine goodness. Likewise, a thing taken alone, no addition being made, is said to be sufficient in that it has everything a man absolutely needs.

116. In this sense, happiness, the subject of our present discussion, has self-sufficiency, because of itself it furnishes everything that is absolutely necessary, but it does not supply everything that can come to a man. Man can be made better by an additional good. But a man’s desire for this does not remain unsatisfied, because a desire controlled by reason, such as a truly happy man should have, is undisturbed by the things that are unnecessary even though attainable. Happiness, therefore, has this quality above everything else; it is desirable even when not augmented by other goods. However, if it does receive an addition, be it ever so small, surely that is even more desirable. The reason is that, by the accession, a superabundance or an increase of good is effected, and because something is a greater good, it is more desirable.

117. Last, he repeats in the epilogue the conclusion of what has been established [104–16]: since happiness is the ultimate end of all our activities, it is the perfect good and self-sufficient.

The Definition of Happiness

But to say that happiness is the best of goods seems merely to state something already perfectly obvious. However, since we wish to bring out more clearly what it is, we must investigate the matter further. [118]

Perhaps this can be done by considering the activity of man. As the good of a flute player or sculptor or any artist, or of anyone who has some special activity, seems to consist in that activity and its skillful performance, so also the good of man, who has an activity characteristic of himself precisely as man. [119]

Have a weaver and a tanner a special work and activity while man precisely as man has none? Is he left by nature without a purpose? [121]

If the eye, hand, foot, and each member have a proper operation, surely we will not refuse to concede an activity proper to man as man. [122]

What, therefore, will it be? Life belongs even to plants, and we are in search of something characteristic of man. The life of nutrition and growth must then be ruled out. Even the life of sense experience, which is a step higher, is shared with the horse, cow, and other animals. The remaining type of life belongs to the rational part of man and finds its expression in actions. This rational part either follows the dictates of reason or possesses and exercises the power of understanding. Of the two functions, the latter seems the more correct, for when we speak of reasoning, we signify the exercise of our rational powers. [123]

The function of man, therefore, is activity of the soul according to reason, or at least not independent of reason. Now, as a rule, we classify in the same way the function of an artist and of a skillful artist, of a flute player and of a good flute player. This applies generally where skill is an addition to the function, for a flute player is one who plays the flute and a good flute player one who plays the flute well. If then we place the function of man in a certain kind of life—that is, of an activity of the soul according to reason—it will be proper to a good man to act well and to the best of his ability according to reason. In every case, the good of man will consist in action conformable to virtue, and if there are a number of virtues, action conformable to the best and most perfect of them. [127]

Further, it must extend to a complete life. A single swallow or one good day does not mean that spring has come. So one day (of goodness) or a short practice of virtue does not make a man blessed and happy. [129]

118. But to say that happiness. After the Philosopher has laid down certain conditions of happiness, he here examines its definition.

Concerning this, he does three things.

First, he shows the necessity of this inquiry.

Second, at perhaps this can be done (1097b24; [119]), he searches for the definition of happiness.

Third, at in this way, therefore (1098a20; [131]), he shows that the definition given is insufficient and further inquiry must be made.

He says first that all admit that happiness is the very best of things, including the belief that it is the ultimate end and the perfect self-sufficient good. But it is rather obvious that some clarification must be made about happiness to give us a knowledge of its specific nature.

119. Then, at perhaps this (1097b24), he investigates the definition of happiness in a twofold manner.

First, he inquires into its genus;

second, at the function of man (1098a7; [127]), into its differences.

The first point requires a threefold procedure.

First, he shows that happiness consists in an activity of man.

Second, at have a weaver (1097b28; [121]), he shows that there is an activity proper to man.

Third, at what, therefore (1097b33; [123]), he shows which is man’s proper activity.

He says first that the nature of happiness can be made evident by consideration of human activity. When a thing has a proper operation, the good of the thing and its well-being consist in that operation. Thus, the good of a flute player consists in his playing, and similarly the good of the sculptor and of every artist in their respective activity. The reason is that the final good of everything is its ultimate perfection, and the form is its first perfection, while its operation is the second. If some exterior thing be called an end, this will be only because of an operation by which a man comes in contact with that thing, either by making it as a builder makes a house, or by using or enjoying it. Accordingly, the final good of everything must be found in its operation. If, then, man has some characteristic activity, his final good, which is happiness, must consist in this. Consequently, happiness is the proper operation of man.

120. But if happiness is said to consist in something else, either this will be a thing fitting man for an operation of this kind or it will be something he attains by his operation, as God is said to be the beatitude of man.

121. Then, at have a weaver (1097b28), he proves in two ways that there is an operation proper to man.

He does this first by activities that are incidental to man. It may happen that a man is a weaver, tanner, grammarian, musician, or anything else of the kind. In none of these capacities does he lack a proper operation, for otherwise he would possess them as empty and useless things. Now, it is far more unfitting that a thing ordained by divine reason, as is the naturally existent, should be unprofitable and useless than that a thing arranged by human reason should be so. Since, therefore, man is a being possessing a natural existence, it is impossible that he should be by nature without a purpose, or a proper operation. There is then a proper operation of man no less than of the abilities that are incidental to him. The reason is that every thing, either natural or acquired by art, exists by means of its form, which is a principle of some operation. Hence, as each thing has a proper existence by its form, so also does it have a proper operation.

122. Second, at if the eye (1097b30), he proves the same truth by means of the human members. We must consider that the same mode of operation is found in the whole and in the parts of man, because, as the soul is the act of the whole body, so certain powers of the soul are acts of certain parts of the body, as sight is of the eye. But each part of man has a proper operation; for example, the operation of the eye is seeing; and of the hand, touching; and of the feet, walking; and so of the other parts. We conclude, therefore, that some operation proper to man as a whole exists.

123. Then, at what, therefore (1097b33), he explores the nature of the operation proper to man. Now it is evident that each thing has an operation that belongs to it according to its form. But the form of man is his soul, whose act is life—not indeed life as the mere existence of a living thing, but a special vital operation, for example, understanding or feeling. Hence, happiness obviously consists in some vital operation.

124. It cannot be said that man’s happiness should arise from any kind of life, for even plants have life. But happiness is sought as a good characteristic of man, since it is called a human good. Likewise, happiness must be different from the life of nutrition or growth, which even vegetables possess. From this, we take it that happiness does not consist in health, beauty, strength, or great stature, for all these things result from activities of vegetative life.

125. On the step above the life of mere nutrition and growth, there is the life of sense experience. Again, this is not proper to man, but is possessed by horses, oxen, and other animals. In this kind of life, then, happiness does not consist. So we conclude that human happiness is not found in any form of sense perception or pleasure.

126. Beyond the life of assimilation and of sense experience, there remains only the life that functions according to reason. This life is proper to man, for he receives his specific classification from the fact that he is rational. Now the rational has two parts.

One is rational by participation insofar as it is obedient to and is regulated by reason.

The other is rational by nature as it can of itself reason and understand.

The rational by nature is more properly called rational because a thing possessed intrinsically is always more proper than a thing received from another. Since, therefore, happiness is the most proper good of man, it consists more likely in the rational by nature than in the rational by participation. From this, we can see that happiness will be found more properly in the life of thought than in a life of activity, and in an act of reason or intellect than in an act of the appetitive power controlled by reason.

127. Then, at the function of man (1098a7), he inquires into the specific differences of happiness.

He divides the inquiry into two parts according to the two specific differences investigated,

and he begins the second part at further, it must extend (1098a18; [129]).

First, then, we know from the premises [126] that the proper function of a man is a psychic activity in accord with reason itself or at least not independent of reason. The latter is mentioned because of the activity of the appetite controlled by reason. Now, as a rule, we find that the function of a thing generally and the efficient activity of that thing are of the same nature, except that allowance must be made for the part played by skill. For example, the function of a harpist is to play the harp, and the function of a good harpist is to play the harp well. The same is true of all other functions.

128. If, therefore, man’s proper role consists in living a certain kind of life—namely, according to the activity of reason—it follows that it is proper to a good man to act well according to reason, and to the very good man or the happy man to do this in superlative fashion. But this belongs to the nature of virtue that everyone who has virtue should act well according to it, as a horse with good training or “virtue” should run well. If, then, the activity of the very good man or the happy man is to act well—in fact, to act to the best of his ability according to reason—it follows that the good of man, which is happiness, is an activity according to virtue. If there is only one virtue for man, his activity according to that virtue will be happiness. If there are a number of such virtues for man, happiness will be the activity according to the best of them. The reason is that happiness is not only the good of man but the best good.

129. Then, at further, it must extend (1098a18), he inquires into the other specific difference of happiness. Continuity and perpetuity, to some extent, are also required for happiness. These qualities are naturally desired by the appetite of a person endowed with reason, who apprehends not a particular being, as our senses do, but also being in itself. Now, being is of itself desirable. It follows, then, that, as an animal that apprehends a particular being by its senses desires that particular being, so also man, apprehending being in itself, desires it as always existing and not this particular being alone. So continuity and perpetuity, which are not found in the present life, belong to the nature of perfect happiness. Hence, perfect happiness cannot be had in this life. However, the happiness attainable here must extend to a complete life—that is, through the whole life of man. As the sight of a single swallow or one clear day does not prove that spring is here, so a single good deed is not enough to make a man happy. It arises rather from the continued performance of good deeds throughout his whole life.

130. From this discussion, therefore, it is clear that happiness is a virtue-oriented activity proper to man in a complete life.

The Task Before Us

In this way, therefore, the good of happiness has been sketched, for the proper procedure is first to study a subject according to its general notions and afterward to explain it more fully. [131]

It would indeed seem a reasonable mode of procedure to make a sketch of the matter and then to investigate its features one by one. [132]

In this matter, time seems to be, as it were, a good discoverer and a special assistant. Thus, improvements in the arts have been due to successive artists, each making his own contribution. [133]

We must recall what was said before, that the same certitude is not to be expected in all sciences, but in each according to the subject matter, and that the degree of certitude should be suited to the subject taught. [135]

For a carpenter and a geometrician both study a straight line, but for different reasons. The carpenter does so to the extent that this is useful in his work; the geometrician, as a student of truth, wants to learn what a line is and how it differs from other figures. This distinction must be observed in other practical sciences lest they be burdened with discussions that are out of place. [136]

Likewise, we must not seek causes equally in all matters, but in some it suffices to establish a fact. This is the case with the first principles of a science, since a principle is a starting point. Now, we understand some principles by induction, some by observation, some by custom, and others in other ways. [137]

In all cases, we must strive for a thorough knowledge of each set of principles according to their nature and must study how to define them properly. Principles are a great help in understanding what follows. Indeed, a single principle seems to be more than half of the whole, for it furnishes answers to many of our questions. [138]

131. In this way, therefore. After the Philosopher has investigated the definition of happiness itself, he now shows in a twofold fashion what may still remains to be done.

He indicates first what remains to be done;

second, at we must recall (1098a26; [135]), how this should be done.

In regard to the initial point, he does three things.

First, he manifests what has been done and what remains to be done. He says that the final good of man, which is happiness, has been previously sketched [103–130]. By “a sketch,” he means the knowledge acquired through some common principles, which indeed gives a picture of the matter, but not in such a way that the nature of that thing in particular is manifested. The reason for this is, as he himself says, that a thing should first be studied according to its general characteristics—that is, by a general description that is like it and in a way extrinsic to it. Then, with other matters clarified, we must take up what was previously sketched roughly and etch in the lines more sharply. For this reason he himself will take up in greater detail the treatise on happiness toward the end of this work.¹

132. Second, at it would indeed seem (1098a22), he assigns the reason for the statement just made [131], saying that it seems natural for man to advance from the imperfect knowledge that covers a good description of things to a perfect knowledge of them by filling in the details. This he does by investigating first one part and then another, for it is according to man’s nature to proceed by the steps of reason to a knowledge of the truth. Reason has this peculiar characteristic, that it grasps the truth gradually, and as a consequence, man properly perfects himself in knowledge little by little. On the contrary, separated or intellectual substances attain at once to the knowledge of the truth without any such investigation.

133. Third, at in this matter time (1098a23), he shows how a man may be helped in this procedure. He says that time seems to be, as it were, a discoverer of things well suited to sketch a subject and to be of special assistance in the work. The meaning is not that time itself contributes anything, but that this help comes with time. If someone should busy himself investigating the truth for a period, he will be aided in the discovery of the truth by the passage of time. This is true in the case of the same person who will understand subsequently what he had not understood before, and also for different persons, as in the case of a man who learns the things discovered by his predecessors and adds something himself. In this way improvements have been made in the arts, in which a small discovery was made first and afterward notable advances were made by the efforts of various men, each looking upon it as a duty to supply what is lacking in the knowledge of his predecessors.

134. But if, on the contrary, application to study be neglected, time is rather a cause of forgetfulness, as is said in Physics 4.¹ We see indeed that the negligent individual forgets what he knows, and in human history we observe that many sciences that flourished among the ancients gradually have been lost when interest in them ceased.

135. Then, at we must recall (1098a26), he shows how we must follow up the remainder of our task.

First, he presents this in general by recalling to mind what was said in the introduction [32, 36], that we must not look for the same certitude in all subjects, but in each according to the matter, namely, that which is proper to the subject taught.

136. Second, at for a carpenter (1098a29), he makes specific what he has said.

First, he takes up what must be handled differently for different subjects,

and second, at in all cases we must (1098b4; [138]), what must be observed generally in all subjects.

In regard to the first, he gives a threefold difference.

The first of these is the difference between a practical and a speculative science. He says, therefore, that a carpenter, who is a practical man, and a geometrician, who is a theorist, study a straight line for different reasons. A practical man—a carpenter—studies a line insofar as it is useful for his work in sawing wood or in doing anything else of this nature. But the geometrician investigates what a line is—its qualities and its nature—by considering the properties and potentialities. He is interested only in the study of truth. We must proceed in the first way to avoid many discussions that are out of place in practical sciences. For instance, in moral matters, we must steer clear of an exhaustive treatment of the intellect and the other powers of the soul to the neglect of the study of human acts themselves. It is a serious defect in any science to squander time on matter outside the science.

137. He treats a second difference at likewise, we must not (1098a34; [137]). Here he considers the difference between principles and deductions made from them. He says that the cause is not to be sought equally in all matters; otherwise, we would proceed to infinity in demonstrating. But in some cases it is sufficient to show clearly that a thing is so. This is true of principles that are taken for granted in a science, since they are the beginning and cannot be reduced to anything previous. Now, principles themselves are not manifested in the same way. But some are understood by induction from particular examples, such as that every number is even or odd. Some are taken from observation, such as that, in nature, every living thing needs nourishment. Some are taken from custom, such as that, in morals, sensual desires are diminished if we do not give in to them. Still other principles are manifested in still other ways, such as that, in the practical arts, principles are learned by a sort of experience.

138. Then, at in all cases, we must (1098b4), he sets down the procedure to be followed generally in all such matters. He says that a person ought to persist in going over thoroughly each set of principles, both speculatively and practically, in the way a knowledge of their nature demands and in studying how men understand them. Thus, a man will learn how to distinguish one principle from another, and one set of principles from another set. A knowledge of principles is a great help in understanding the conclusions that flow from them. Indeed, a single principle seems to be more than half of the whole, since the content of a science is contained in the principles. He adds that many answers we look for in a science are clear from one principle well understood and completely thought out.

Confirmation of the Definition

In our study of the principles, we must carefully examine not only the conclusions and the premises from which the argument proceeds, but also the considered views of others. Everything indeed will fall into agreement with what is true, and the truth will be quickly seen to be at variance with the false. [139]

Goods have been classified as external, of the soul, and of the body. Among these, we hold that the goods of the soul are the best and most properly called goods. We attribute vital actions and operations to the soul. Therefore, our opinion must be sound, for it is in agreement with that ancient one held by the philosophers. [141]

It was stated accurately, then, that we identify the end with certain acts and operations. Thus, happiness will be accounted one of the goods of the soul, and not an external good. [144]

This coincides with the common notion that one who lives well and does well is a happy man. As a matter of fact, a good life appears to be nothing else but good activity. [145]

Everything that philosophers have looked for in happiness seems to be found in our notion of it. [146]

Some have taught that happiness consists in virtue either generally, or specifically in prudence or in wisdom. Others say it consists in all or one of these virtues accompanied by pleasure, or at least not without pleasure. Still others would include an abundance of external goods. [147]

The rank and file together with some ancient philosophers held this last opinion, while a distinguished minority chose virtue. It is likely that no one was entirely wrong, but each was right on one or more points. [150]

Our definition of happiness is acceptable to those who hold that happiness consists in all or in one of the virtues, for virtuous activity clearly is something belonging to it. [151]

But besides, it makes a great difference whether the chief good be placed in possession or use, in habit or activity, because a habit may exist in a person not actually performing any good—for instance, in one who is asleep or otherwise not engaged in any way whatsoever. This is not possible with an activity, for a man having it necessarily is active, and if the activity be virtuous, he will act virtuously. [152]

At the Olympic games, the best looking and strongest athletes do not receive the crown, but the victorious competitors. So, too, among those who are good and best in virtuous living, those who perform righteous deeds become illustrious. [153]

139. In our study of the principles. After the Philosopher has shown in general what happiness is, he proposes here to confirm the view he has just given by what is said by others on happiness.

Concerning this he does two things.

First, he indicates his intention.

Then, at goods have been (1098b12; [141]), he begins to carry it out.

He says first that it is most important to have a principle thoroughly understood. The principle in practical matters is the ultimate end. To ensure a more careful study of it, we must examine not only the conclusions and the premises from which the discussion of the reasoner proceeds, but also the observations of others concerning the principle itself, namely, the ultimate end or happiness. He then assigns the reason for this procedure, that everything harmonizes with the truth. This is so because, as will be said in book 6 [1143], truth is the good of the intellect. Good, as explained later [320], is achieved only in the concurrence of all the factors pertaining to the perfection of the thing.

140. Evil, on the contrary, comes about in a variety of ways by the defect of any single necessary qualification. No evil, however, can be found in which the good is completely corrupted, as will be shown in book 4 [808]. So, not only all good things are in agreement with the good, but even evil things, in that they retain something of good. In a similar way, all false things are in agreement with the truth insofar as they retain some likeness of truth. It is not possible that the mind holding a false opinion is completely deprived of the knowledge of the truth, because by means of the true it immediately judges something false as lacking in the truth. This is what he understands by saying that the true is at variance with the false, somewhat like a right angle with an oblique angle.

141. Then, at goods have been classified (1098b12), he begins to carry out his intention:

first, as regards those things which have been said by others about happiness;

second, at this—that happiness is a virtuous activity (1099b28; [174]), as regards those things which he has affirmed about happiness.

In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he shows that the consensus of others is in agreement with his view.

Second, at everything that philosophers (1098b22; [146]), he shows that the points on which others disagree substantiate his view.

In regard to the initial point, he does two things.

First, he shows that what is commonly said by philosophers is in harmony with the given description of happiness.

Second, at this coincides with (1098b20; [145]), he shows that the same is true from what is generally affirmed by everyone.

He proves the first observation in two ways.

142. First, he divides human goods into three classes.

Of these, some are external, as riches, honors, friends, and such like.

Others are interior, and these are divided again into two kinds.

For some of them pertain to the body, such as strength, beauty, and health;

others pertain to the soul, such as knowledge, virtue, and the like. These are the chief goods, for external things are for the sake of the body, and the body for the sake of the soul, as matter for form and as an instrument for a principal agent. Now the common view of all philosophers is that the goods of the soul are the most important.

143. The Stoics and the Peripatetics held divergent views about some goods. The Stoics were of the opinion that some goods are not human goods because they do not make man better. The Peripatetics, that is, the followers of Aristotle, asserted indeed that external goods are the least of goods—the goods of the body being, as it were, means—but the chief goods in their judgment were the goods of the soul, by which man is made good. Other goods, however, according to them, are called “good” insofar as they serve as means toward the principal goods. Thus, happiness, since it is the chief good, must be numbered among the goods of the soul. Hence, it is evident that the placing of happiness in an operation of the rational soul, as we said above [110–26], is in agreement with this ancient opinion common to all philosophers, that the most important goods are those belonging to the soul.

144. Second, at it was stated accurately (1098b18), he proves the same thing in a different way. The soul, he says, has two kinds of operations.

Some of these pass into external matter, as weaving and building. Operations of this sort are not ends, but things done for ends, that is, woven cloth and a completed house.

Other operations of the soul, however, remain in the agent himself, as understanding and willing. Operations of this kind are ends.

When we said that happiness is an operation and not a product, it was correctly stated that acts and operations themselves are ends [119–20]. Thus, happiness is classified as one of the goods belonging to the soul and not an external good. Now, in an immanent action, the operation itself is a perfection and a good of the agent, but in a transient action, the perfection and the good are found in the external effect. Hence, the aforesaid view is in agreement with the position of the philosophers who hold that goods of the soul are the chief goods, and not only because we said happiness was concerned with the operation of the soul, but also in that we place happiness in the operation itself.

145. Then, at this coincides (1098b20), he shows that the things generally agreed on about happiness fit in with our view, for it was said above [45, 128] that everyone identifies living a good life and doing well with being happy. What we said is in agreement with this understanding or notion of happiness, because a good life appears to be good activity and happiness seems to be of this nature. Those things truly are said to live which of themselves are moved to activity.

146. Then, at everything that philosophers (1098b22), he shows that even the things in which others differ are in agreement with the aforesaid view. On this point, he does three things.

First, he brings forward the points on which men differ about happiness.

Second, at our definition of happiness (1098b30), he shows that each of these is in agreement with the above view.

Finally, at next we investigate (1099b9; [165]), he asks and answers a certain question concerning the premises.

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he states what he wishes to show, that everything that was looked for in happiness by various philosophers in various ways seems to be found in our notion, that is, to be preserved in his view.

147. Second, at some have taught (1098b23), he gives different views on happiness.

The first of these is that happiness consists in virtue. This has three variations.

Some taught that any virtue, especially moral virtue, which perfects the appetite under the control of the reason, constitutes happiness.

To others, it seemed that happiness consists in prudence, which perfects the practical reason.

Still others thought that happiness is found in wisdom, which is the ultimate perfection of the speculative reason.

148. The second opinion holds that all or any of these may constitute happiness provided that pleasure be added. This is understood in two senses.

Some maintained that virtue and pleasure almost in equal measure constitute happiness.

Others, while placing happiness in virtue primarily, assign a secondary role to pleasure.

149. A third opinion adds to these elements of happiness a full measure of external goods, like riches and other material goods.

150. Third, at the rank and file (1098b27), he indicates the difference in the persons holding the foregoing views. He says that the majority—that is, the common people and some men of antiquity who were not grounded well in such matters—held some of these opinions, such as pleasure and riches being necessary for happiness. But others, the minority but distinguished and famous men, held that happiness consists rather in goods of the soul. It is likely that none of these was entirely wrong, but that each of them was right on some points.

151. Then, at our definition of happiness (1098b30), he shows that these views are in agreement with what he previously assigned to happiness.

First, he shows that this is true of the first opinion, which held that virtue is happiness.

Second, at the life of those (1099a7; [154]), he shows that it is true of the second opinion, which adds pleasure.

Third, at it seems, however (1099a31; [162]), he shows that it is true of the third opinion, which adds external goods.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows that the first opinion given is in agreement with his.

Second, he shows how his opinion is better.

He affirms, therefore, that the definition of happiness given above as an activity according to virtue [130] is acceptable to those who held that all virtue or one virtue constitutes happiness. It is evident that virtuous activity is something belonging to virtue.

152. Then, at but besides, it makes a great difference (1098b31), he shows that his own view is better:

first, from reason;

second, from a custom among men, by the words at the Olympic games (1099a3; [153]).

He says first that it makes a great deal of difference in external goods whether the most important good is in the possession of a thing or in its use—which is obviously better than possession. It is the same, too, with a habit of virtue and its operation or in its use, which is of greater value than the habit. A habit can exist in a person who is not actually doing any good act, as in one who is asleep or not engaged in any way whatsoever. But this is not possible with an operation. It necessarily follows that that man should operate in whom there is an operation, and that he should produce a good effect if there be in him a virtuous operation. Consequently, a virtuous operation is more perfect than virtue itself.

153. Then, when he says at the Olympic games (1099a3), he proves the same thing by a custom among men. Concerning this, we must know that, in Macedonia, there is a very high mountain called Olympus where certain competitive sports, called Olympic games, were held. In these, not the strongest and best looking athletes received the crown, but only the winning contestants, for those who did not compete were ineligible for the prize. So also, of those who are good and best in virtuous living, only those are illustrious and happy who actually perform good deeds. Hence, it is better to say that happiness is a virtuous operation, rather than that it is virtue itself.

Some Place Happiness in Virtue with Pleasure; Others Say External Goods Are Necessary for Happiness

The life of those who act in accord with virtue is itself pleasurable. [154]

Now pleasure is an activity proper to a living being. And everyone finds pleasure in what he is fond of, as a lover of horses finds pleasure in horses and a lover of shows in shows. In the same way, a man who loves justice finds pleasure in just deeds; and, in general, one who loves virtue finds pleasure in virtuous activity. [155]

Many experience pleasure in things that are in opposition to one another because the pleasure is not in accord with human nature. Men who love the good, however, find pleasure in the things that are inherently pleasurable. Of this kind are virtuous operations that therefore are pleasurable not only to virtuous men but also by their very natures. [156]

This type of life then has no need of pleasure as an accessory, but is pleasurable in itself. [157]

It should be added that every virtuous person rejoices in virtuous acts, for no one will call a man just who does not enjoy doing just deeds; no one will call a man generous who does not enjoy giving generously. Similarly, we speak of men in other virtuous activities. From this it is clear that actions in accord with virtue are pleasurable in themselves. [158]

Granting this, such actions are noble and good. In fact, they have each of these qualities in the highest degree, if a good man judge truly in this matter, as we have said he does. Therefore, happiness is the best, the noblest, and the most pleasurable of all things. [159]

These qualities do not belong to different things as the inscription at Delos has it: the best is the just thing, the most desired is health, and the sweetest is the heart’s desire. But they are all found together in the most virtuous actions. We say that happiness consists in all these or in the best of these. [161]

It seems, however, that happiness stands in need of external goods, as we have said. [162]

For it is impossible, or at least difficult, for an indigent man to perform certain virtuous actions. Many good deeds become feasible, as we have pointed out, by the aid of friends and money and political influence. Then, too, the lack of other blessings, like noble birth, good children, and physical beauty, spoil a man’s happiness. One who is extremely ugly, lowborn, or alone in the world and without children cannot be entirely happy. Much less is he happy who is cursed with wayward children or evil associates or who has lost friends by death. In our opinion, then, it seems that happiness has need of external prosperity to a degree. [163]

For this reason, some have identified good fortune with happiness. Others, however, prefer to place happiness in virtue. [164]

154. The life of those who act in accord with virtue. After the Philosopher has shown how the first opinion, which places happiness in virtue, is in agreement with the definition given above, and how it differs from it, he now does the same regarding the second opinion, which holds that happiness consists in virtue together with pleasure.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows how this position harmonizes with his own opinion.

Second, at this type of life (1099a15; [157]), he shows how it differs.

On the initial point, he does two things.

First, he states his proposition;

second, he gives evidence for his statement at now pleasure is (1099a7; [155]).

He says, therefore, first that the life of those who act virtuously is itself pleasurable. Happiness, then, which we place in an operation of virtue, does not lack pleasure, which, in their judgment, happiness requires.

155. Then, at now pleasure is (1099a7), he proves his statement.

First, he shows that virtuous actions should be pleasurable.

Second, at many experience (1099a11; [156]), he shows that this pleasure is preferable to others.

He says first that pleasure is an activity proper to animals. Although we may attribute a natural appetite to inanimate things, we attribute pleasure only to a being having perception. From this, we see that pleasure properly belongs to the activities of a soul, one of which is happiness. Now, in activities of this kind, everyone finds pleasure in what he is fond of. As a lover desires the thing which is absent, so he takes pleasure in it when it is present. In this way, a lover of horses finds pleasure in a horses; and a lover of shows, in a show. Hence, it is evident that every virtuous person loves the activities of his own virtue as something agreeable to him. To the extent that the just man loves justice, he will take pleasure in doing just deeds. It is universally true that virtuous operations are pleasurable to virtuous persons who love virtue.

156. Then, at many experience (1099a11), he shows that this pleasure is preferable to others. He explains that the things pleasurable to the majority of men are contrary to one another. Prodigality, for instance, is a source of pleasure to the spendthrift, while hoarding delights the miser. This happens because these pleasures are not in accord with human nature common to all men—in other words, with reason—but rather with the corruption of an appetite departing from reason. But to men loving the good of virtue, these things are pleasurable that are inherently so—that is, that are agreeable to man according to reason, the perfection of his nature. Because of this, all virtuous men take pleasure in the same things—operations according to virtue—that are naturally pleasurable to men according to right reason. These are pleasurable not only to men but also in their very nature. But evil actions give pleasure to men who get used to them by corrupt habits. Since, then, what is such of itself and by nature is preferable, pleasure arising from virtuous operation will be more delightful than other pleasures.

157. Then, at this type of life (1099a15; [157]), he shows in what respect this opinion may not be true. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he states a proposition.

Second, at it should be added (1099a17; [158]), he gives evidence for his statement.

We must, therefore, consider in regard to the first that those who hold that happiness consists in virtue together with pleasure seemed to intimate that virtue may have need of some extrinsic pleasure for the perfection of happiness. Aristotle disagrees here, saying that the life of those who act in accord with virtue does not need pleasure as an extrinsic addition. That life is pleasurable in itself.

158. Then, at it should be added (1099a17), he gives evidence for what he has affirmed.

In regard to this, he does three things.

First, he proves that virtuous life is pleasurable in itself.

Second, at granting this, such actions (1099a22; [159]), he proves that it has nobility and goodness in a high degree.

Third, at these qualities do not (1099a25; [161]), he excludes a false opinion.

He says first that, to the reasons proving that virtuous actions are naturally pleasurable [154–6], we must add that pleasure necessarily belongs to virtue and pertains to its very nature. There is no virtuous person who does not enjoy the good deeds he does. He proves this inductively by saying that no one will call that man just who does not rejoice in doing just deeds. A similar observation may be made of the generous man and of a man practicing any virtue. The reason is that the act of a virtuous man is agreeable to him according to a proper habit, and as a consequence, he derives pleasure from it. From this it is clear that virtuous actions are pleasurable in themselves and do not require pleasure external to them.

159. Then, at granting this (1099a22), he shows that actions in accord with virtue are not only pleasurable but also noble and good. Actions indeed are pleasurable to an agent when they are agreeable to him by reason of a proper habit. They are noble or beautiful because of a right order of circumstances as of parts, for beauty consists in a fitting arrangement of parts. They are good because ordered to the end.

160. He adds that each of these three qualities belongs to virtuous actions in a high degree. He proves this by the judgment of a good man. Such a man, since he has the right feeling for human works, judges them correctly. In another field, the man with a healthy sense of taste will make correct judgment on flavors. But a good man judges that actions in accord with virtue are eminently pleasurable, noble and, good, so much so that he puts them before any other pleasures, beauties, or goods. Since, therefore, happiness consists in virtuous actions, it follows that happiness is the best, most beautiful, and most pleasant.

161. Then, at these qualities do not belong (1099a25), he excludes from his doctrine a certain opinion. To understand this, we must recall the inscription in Apollo’s temple at Delos: The best is what is most just. The most desired is to be healthy. The most delightful is that which one desires to enjoy. But the Philosopher says that these three qualities do not belong to different things, but all three belong to virtuous actions, in all of which or in the best of which happiness consists. Therefore, there is one—happiness—that is the best, most beautiful, most desired, or most delightful.

162. Then, at it seems, however (1099a31), he comes to the third opinion, which held that external goods are necessary to happiness.

In regard to this, he does three things.

First, he brings out in what way this opinion may conform to the truth.

Second, at for it is impossible (1099a32; [163]), he gives evidence for his statement.

Third, at for this reason some (1099b6; [164]), he draws a conclusion from the premises.

He says first that the third opinion given above [149] seems true in this, that happiness has need of external good, as was indicated previously [111].

163. Then, at for it is impossible (1099a32), he gives evidence for his statement. In this matter, we must consider that happiness needs certain external goods as instruments to perform the good deeds in which happiness consists. Touching on this, he says that it is impossible or difficult for a man who does not possess the means for gifts and expenditures to practice certain virtuous acts. In many works of virtue, we make use of friends, wealth, and political power, as in the case of someone who is a ruler or an official. There are some external goods that lend a beauty to happiness insofar as they make a man pleasing in the eyes of others, giving him a kind of splendor.

At this point, he adds that a lack of certain externals clouds a man’s happiness, making him, as it were, contemptible in the eyes of others, as is evident in a man who lacks noble birth, good children, or even physical beauty. A man is not entirely happy when he is ugly, since this makes him contemptible and despised in the eyes of others. The same is true of one who is lowborn or who does not have good children, or of those living as though solitary, being conjoined to the flesh; for a man is held in contempt on account of all of these. Much less is he happy who has wicked sons or friends, for this limits his virtuous activity. Likewise, it is incompatible with happiness to have lost good friends by death, for such a loss means grief of heart. So it seems, then, that happiness has some need of goods of fortune.

164. Then, at for this reason (1099b6), he comes to the conclusion that, although happiness consists in virtuous actions, nevertheless it needs external goods to some extent. Such externals are called goods of fortune because they often fall into a man’s lap or, in bad luck, desert him. For this reason, some have held that good fortune and happiness are identical. But others have identified happiness with virtue, as was said above [66–8].

The Cause of Happiness

Next, we investigate whether happiness is something that can be learned or acquired by habit or attained in some way by training. Does it come to us by divine providence or by chance? [165]

If anything is the gift of the gods to men, it is reasonable to think that happiness, the best by far of all human goods, is the gift of God. But this subject is perhaps more properly treated in another science. [167]

On the other hand, if happiness is not sent directly by God, but comes to men by virtue and study and exercise, it would still be judged most divine. As the reward and end of virtue, it is apparently most excellent and divine and blessed. [169]

It will also be common to human nature, because, supposing it be the result of discipline and study, happiness can be had by all who are not impeded from virtuous action. [170]

If such is the case, it is better that happiness be attained in this way than by chance, and it is reasonable to have it so. The things that are in accord with nature are as good as they can be by their very make-up. The same too can be said of what is produced by art or by any cause, especially the highest. [171]

Besides, to abandon the greatest and the best good to the vagaries of chance is most pernicious. [172]

What we seek is evident from the definition of happiness as a certain kind of activity of the soul in accord with virtue. Of the remaining goods, some are necessary to enrich happiness and others work instrumentally for its attainment. [173]

This—that happiness is a virtuous activity—is apparent in the light of what was laid down in the beginning. There we stated that the end of political science is the best of human goods, for the principal aim of this science is the formation of men in such a way that they will become upright citizens and doers of good works. [174]

That is why we do not say properly that a cow or a horse or any other animal is happy, for it is not possible for any of them to participate in moral activity. [175]

For the same reason, children are not really happy, in that they have not yet attained sufficient age for the performance of virtuous deeds. Children are called happy because they give promise of happiness, while real happiness needs perfect virtue and a complete life, as we have already pointed out. [176]

165. Next, we investigate whether happiness. After the Philosopher has shown how different opinions are in agreement with the definition of happiness presented above, here he naturally investigates the cause of happiness.

First, he states the question;

second, at if anything (1099b11; [167]), he explains it.

In regard to the first, we must consider that happiness must proceed from either a per se and determined cause or a per accidens (or incidental) and undetermined cause—that is, chance. If from a per se and determined cause, this will be either human or divine. In the case of a human cause, the effect is produced in us in three ways: first by learning, as a science; second by practice, as a moral virtue; third by exercise, as a military drill and other things of this kind.

166. Accordingly, he proposes the question in three parts. The first concerns a human cause. He asks whether happiness is something that can be learned as a science, or that can be acquired by habit as a moral virtue, or that can to some extent be had by training, like setting up exercises. The second part concerns a divine cause. He asks whether happiness is something divine in us and a sharing in some way of god-like qualities that are above men. The third part concerns a per accidens and undetermined cause. In other words, he asks whether happiness occurs to man by chance.

167. Then, at if anything (1099b11), he explains the question.

First, in parts, as it were, by considering the individual sections of the question.

Second, by offering a common reason taken from the definition of happiness at what we seek is evident (1099b25; [173]).

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he shows it is eminently reasonable for happiness to have a divine cause.

Second, at on the other hand (1099b14; [169]), he shows that it is acceptable for it to have a human cause.

Third, at if such is the case (1099b20; [171]), he shows it is not fitting for it to be an effect of chance.

He says first that if the gods (that is, beings called gods by the ancients) make gifts to men, it is reasonable that happiness be the gift of the supreme God, because it is the most excellent of human goods. It is obvious that a thing is led to a higher end by a higher virtue or power—for instance, man is led to a higher end by military art than by bridle-making. Hence, it is reasonable that the ultimate end, happiness, should come to man from the highest power of all, the supreme God.

168. That separated substances may bestow something on men becomes evident from the fact that men and separated substances are alike in the power of intelligence. As the lower bodies are brought to perfection by the higher bodies, so are the lower intellectual beings by the superior intellectual beings. But there is no reason to delay any longer on this matter, for it belongs rather to another science, metaphysics.

169. Then, at on the other hand (1099b14), he shows it is acceptable to say that happiness has a human cause. Although God is the principal cause, man does contribute something to happiness. Aristotle shows this in two ways.

First, the fact that happiness has a human cause does not do away with its chief characteristic, that it is most excellent and divine. He says that, if happiness is not a gift sent directly by God, but comes to men by virtue as a thing acquired by habit, or by study as a thing to be learned, or by exercise as a thing to be had by training, nevertheless it seems to be something especially divine. The reason is that, since happiness is the reward and end of virtue, it follows that it is something most excellent and divine and blessed. A thing is not called divine only because it comes from God, but also because it makes us like God in goodness.

170. Second, at it will also (1099b18), he proves the same point in this way. Applicable to happiness is the idea that what belongs to the purpose of a nature should be something common to the things having that nature, for nature does not fail in what it intends except in the minority of cases. So, if happiness is the end of human nature, it must be common to all or many having human nature. This principle remains intact if the cause be a human one. If happiness were to be had through discipline and study, it could come to everyone who is not impeded in the performance of virtuous works either by defect of nature—as in those who are naturally stupid—or by an evil habit that imitates nature. From this it is clear that the happiness spoken of by the Philosopher does not consist in that contact with separated intelligence by which man can understand all things, as certain people have maintained. Such experience does not happen to very many, and in fact, to no one in this life.

171. Then, at if such is the case (1099b20), he rejects chance as the cause of happiness for two reasons.

First, things that are in accord with nature are very good, since nature produces what is suitable. The same is true also of everything made by art or by any cause whatsoever. This is especially the case with the principal cause, upon which happiness, as the most excellent good, seems to depend. One reason is that art and all efficient causes operate for the sake of good. It follows, then, that every agent should most aptly arrange, as far as possible, what he does. This particularly applies to God, who is the cause of all nature. The things that are in accord with nature seem to be better from their very make-up. But it is better that happiness springs from a per se cause, either divine or human, than from chance, which is a per accidens cause; for what is per se is preferable to what is per accidens. Consequently, chance is not the cause of happiness.

172. He offers a second reason at besides, to abandon (1099b24). Happiness is the most perfect of all human goods because all others are ordered to it as to an end. Now, it would be very harmful if this good were to depend on chance, for other goods would be much more subject to chance. As a result, man’s zeal in pursuing these goods would vanish, a most perilous situation. Chance, therefore, is not the cause of happiness.

173. Then, at what we seek (1099b25), he settles the question we are considering. He says it is evident from the definition already given [130] where the truth lies in our investigation of the present question. As was previously indicated [127–8], happiness is an activity of the rational soul in accord with virtue. Now what is in accord with virtue is, according to reason, influenced by some divine cause. But what is according to chance is contrary to reason. It follows that happiness does not spring from chance, but from some human cause immediately and from a divine cause principally and ultimately. Certain other goods, however, in which chance plays a part, do conduce to happiness, but happiness does not chiefly consist in them. Some, though, are necessary for a certain enrichment of happiness, and others work instrumentally to attain it, as we have said [169]. But we must not attribute happiness to chance because of these secondary goods.

174. Then, at this—that happiness (1099b28), he shows that the previously discussed definition of happiness is in agreement not only with the opinions of others on happiness but also with observations made in keeping with his own opinion. In regard to this, he does two things.

First, he shows what concurs with his earlier remarks about happiness [19–42].

Second, at that is why (1099b32; [175]), he concludes what is the correct view in accord with this opinion.

He says first that this—that happiness is an activity in accord with virtue—is apparent, that is, in harmony with the words of the introduction [19–42]. We said there that the best human good, happiness, is the end of political science, whose goal manifestly is activity in accord with virtue. Political science is especially concerned with framing laws and apportioning rewards and punishments in order to develop good citizens and doers of good works. This is to operate in accord with virtue.

175. Then, at that is why (1099b32), he concludes from the reason assigned that happiness cannot be attributed to certain beings according to what has been correctly laid down.

First, he says that no dumb animal is called happy, and rightly so, because none of them can share in the activity of virtue, which is in accord with reason and which constitutes happiness.

176. Second, at for the same reason (1100a1), he also excludes children from happiness, saying that, for a similar reason, they cannot be called happy. Lacking sufficient age, they have not attained that full use of reason requisite for the performance of virtuous actions. If children are sometimes called happy, this is because we see in them signs that give promise of future excellence. At present, therefore, they are not happy, for happiness, as we have indicated [126–7], needs perfect virtue to be not only a good, but the best, operation and a life perfected by good activity that is continuous and permanent.

A Problem about Happiness

Many changes take place in life, and all kinds of fortune are met with in the course of a lifetime. Sometimes a very prosperous man falls into great misfortune in old age, as we read of Priam in the epic poems. Certainly no one calls a man happy who has enjoyed such goods of fortune and then ends his days in misery. [177]

Is no man, then, to be called happy so long as he lives, but must we consider the end of life, as Solon believed? [179]

If we hold this to be so, it follows that a man will be happy only when he dies. But such an opinion is altogether unreasonable, especially for us, who maintain that happiness is a kind of activity. [180]

We may say that a mad man is not happy and that Solon did not wish to assert that he is. We may say Solon meant that a man will safely be called happy at death because he is then beyond the reach of evils and misfortune. This meaning, though, gives rise to a problem. It seems that the dead no less than the living, even though unaware of it, are influenced by good and evil— for instance, by honors and dishonors or by the prosperity and misfortune of children, and of descendants in general. [181]

A difficulty, however, here presents itself. It may happen that a man has lived happily to a ripe old age and has died a worthy death, and afterwards many changes have taken place in regard to his children. Some of them are good and have gained a position in life they well deserve, while others are just the opposite. Indeed, it does happen that children are quite different from their parents. Now, it is incongruous that a dead man should suffer these same changes such that he at one time becomes happy and then again unhappy. On the other hand, it seems unfitting that the affairs of the children should in no way affect the parents, at least for a certain length of time. [183]

But we must return to our first problem. Perhaps from its solution light will be shed on our present difficulty. Let us suppose that we must look at the end and then declare each man happy not because he is happy, but because he formerly was happy. How nonsensical it is if, when a man is happy, we may not affirm it of him, since we are unwilling to call the living happy on account of the changes in the present life because we think happiness permanent and not easily changeable, and because fortune often goes in cycles for the same persons. Obviously, if we use fortune as our norm, we will very often call the same person happy and again unhappy, as though he were a chameleon, and declare him happy and yet insecure in his happiness. [185]

177. Many changes take place in life. After the Philosopher has shown what happiness is, he here raises a problem about happiness, namely, whether anyone can be called happy in this life.

On this point he proceeds in three steps.

First, he gives the reason for the problem.

Second, at is no man, then (1100a10; [179]), he presents the problem.

Third, at we ought not to make (1100b7; [177]), he gives the solution.

He says first that many changes take place in life, for life rarely remains the same either good or bad. It is stable in few things, changing from good fortune to bad and from bad to good. Sometimes, indeed, the changes occur in small matters and sometimes in great, and sometimes in matters of medium importance. Changes of this sort occur at any age—in adolescence, maturity, or old age.

178. Sometimes it happens that a man has had an abundance of external goods all his life, and in old age falls into great misfortune, as Priam did, according to the epic poem of Homer. No one will call that man happy who has enjoyed such goods of fortune and ends his life in misery. The fact that one has been reduced from great prosperity to extreme wretchedness seems to add to his misery.

179. Then, at is no man, then (1100a10), he proposes the difficulty.

First, he sets forth the question.

Second, at if we hold this (1100a11; [180]), he brings up an objection.

Third, at we may say (1100a14; [181]), he rejects a particular answer.

First, then, he asks the question about the view of Solon, one of the seven wise men who framed the laws of the Athenians. Considering man’s life as subject to the changes of fortune, Solon said that no one ought to be called happy so long as he lives, but only at the end of his life. In light of what happened to Priam, the question arises whether any man is to be called happy so long as he lives. Is it best, as Solon holds, to consider the end of life if happiness continues that long, in order that a man may be called happy? Or should this be disregarded?

180. Then, at if we hold (1100a11), he brings up an objection to the question that was asked and disproves the saying of Solon. If we hold as true what Solon said, it follows that man will be happy only when he dies. But this seems unreasonable on other grounds, such as because death is the worst of evils and happiness the greatest of perfections. Besides, happiness is a kind of activity, as we indicated above [119–26]. But a dead man does not seem to have an activity. The dead, therefore, cannot be called happy. It should be noted that the Philosopher is not here speaking of happiness in a future life, but of happiness in the present life. Can we attribute happiness to man while he lives or only at death?

181. Then, at we may say (1100a14), he rejects an answer, and this for two reasons.

He gives the second reason at but we must return to our first problem (1100a31; [185]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he proposes an answer and rejects it.

Second, by reason of this he brings up a problem at a difficulty, however, here presents itself (1100a21; [183]).

In regard to the first point, we must consider that the previous argument of Aristotle showed that a man is not happy in death. Now, this will be granted by anyone who says that a dead man is not happy: Solon did not mean that a man is happy when he dies. But he did mean that when a man is dead, a valid argument can be made about his happiness, because the dead man is now beyond the danger of evils and misfortune, such that there is no longer any doubt about it. But he rejects this answer, saying it contains an uncertainty.

182. A dead man differs from a living man in the loss of consciousness. A good thing or a bad thing—such as defamation of character, the murder of his children, or the loss of riches—could conceivably happen to someone still living, and he might not feel it precisely because he does not know about it. By the same argument, it seems, some good or evil could happen to a dead man who is unaware of it. Here Aristotle is talking about good and evil in public life as his examples—honor and dishonor—show. Sometimes certain honors are given to the dead when they are praised and their memory celebrated. Likewise, certain dishonors are heaped upon them, for example, when their bodies are exhumed and their remains burned. Also, something good or bad can happen to them by reason of the prosperity or misfortune of their children and their grandchildren. Then it would seem that not even the dead are entirely beyond evils and misfortunes. Consequently, even in death, men cannot be called happy.

183. Then, at a difficulty, however (1100a21), he interposes a difficulty arising from the premises. Such things as the prosperity and misfortunes of children and grandchildren present a problem for him. It happens sometimes that a man lives happily—in the way we have described happiness—to old age and dies a worthy death, but afterwards many changes take place in regard to his children, some of whom are good after the example of a worthy father, but others just the opposite. Indeed, it does happen that children are quite different from their parents: good parents have wicked children and wealthy parents have needy children.

184. From this statement, something unfitting seems to follow for both parents and children. It is inappropriate that a dead man should suffer change because of misfortunes of this sort, such that he who at one time is happy now becomes unhappy. On the other hand, it seems improper if, at least for a short time after death, the lot of children should in no way affect the happiness of deceased parents.

185. Then, at but we must return (1100a31), he gives a second reason for rejecting the previous answer. He says that, passing over the second problem, we must return to the first, the solution of which will shed light on the truth of the second. Now, it seems that the answer given is not consistent. If we must look to the end of life and then call a man happy not because he is then truly happy, but because he was previously happy, there seems to be this inconsistency: when a man is happy, we may not say of him that he is happy, since the truth of a statement in the past is founded on the statement being true at the time it actually occurred. Therefore “it was” is true of a thing because “it is” was true of it.

186. But some were unwilling to call a man happy because of the changes in the present life, inasmuch as they were under the impression that happiness was something permanent and not easily changeable; otherwise, it would not satisfy the natural desire. For, everyone naturally desires to remain secure in the good he possesses. But the wheel of fortune very often turns for the same persons, so that they change from good fortune to bad and conversely. Thus, it is evident that, if in judging about happiness, we should follow the consideration of fortune and should say of someone that he is happy in this life, very often we will say of one and the same person that he is happy and again that he is unhappy. In this way, we will be saying that a person is happy after the manner of a chameleon, an animal that changes color in keeping with different surroundings. We will be declaring that the happy are insecure in their happiness, which is contrary to the nature of happiness.

Happiness and Changes of Fortune

We ought not to make changes of fortune our norm, because good and evil do not consist in these, although human living does stand in need of external goods, as we have indicated. But virtuous action is the dominant factor in human happiness, just as vicious action is the dominant factor in man’s unhappiness. [187]

This contention is strengthened by what we have just learned, for virtuous actions are more uniformly constant than other human activities. They are more abiding, apparently, than the speculative sciences. Among the virtues, the most noble seem to be more lasting, because the happy man is quite intent on them and because he lives according to them at all times. For this reason, man does not forget about the virtues. [188]

The happy man will have what we had inquired about, for he will be happy all his life. [191]

He will always, or nearly always, perform virtuous actions and be contemplating the life of virtue. [192]

Because he is really good and foursquare without reproach, he will bear all changes of fortune most admirably and will be eminently prudent in all matters. [193]

Many events differing in importance happen by the change of fortune. A short run of good luck or of bad luck clearly does not notably affect life. But great and frequent good fortune will be an occasion of a happier life, for external goods were made to enrich human life and their use is becoming and a means of virtue. On the contrary, great and frequent evils cause the happy man external annoyance and internal affliction, bringing about sadness and hindering many good works. However, even here, the good of virtue shines forth when a man gracefully endures frequent and major misfortunes, not because he is insensible to the sorrow, but because he is courageous and magnanimous. [194]

If virtuous actions play the dominant role in a happy life, as we have indicated, a happy person will not become unhappy, nor will he sometimes perform hateful and evil actions. As a truly good and wise man in the estimation of all, he will bear the changes of fortune in a becoming manner. He will always make the best of the existing circumstances, like a general who employs his present forces to the best advantage in battle, or like the cobbler who makes the best shoe possible from the leather at hand, or like other artisans in similar circumstance. This being the case, then, the unhappy man will certainly not become happy. We can say, too, that the happy man will not fall into the misfortunes of Priam. He will not easily be moved. He will not be changed from happiness by minor misfortunes, but only by great and frequent ones. After such catastrophies, he will not become happy again soon, but if indeed he does, it will take an abundance of good and noble deeds during a long period. [198]

What, therefore, hinders us from calling that man happy who acts in accord with perfect virtue and has sufficient external goods not for a short time but all during life? We must also add that he will live his whole life in this way and will die in a manner befitting reason, because the future is not clear to us; and we understand happiness as an end altogether perfect in every respect. If this be so, we shall call those happy in this life—happy, we must remember, as men—who have now and will have the conditions we presented. Now we have said enough on these points. [200]

187. We ought not to make changes of fortune. After explaining his problem, the Philosopher here solves it.

First, he solves the principal problem.

Second, at it seems quite foreign (1101a22; [203]), he solves the lesser one.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he introduces a point necessary for the solution of the problem.

Second, at this contention is strengthened (1100b11; [188]), he applies it to the solution of the present problem.

In regard to the initial point, we should consider that, while happiness consists essentially in the performance of virtuous actions, external goods that are subject to fortune are in a way tools of happiness. Hence he says we ought not to make changes of luck the norm for reckoning a man happy or unhappy, because man’s good or evil, which is judged by reason, does not consist principally in such changes of luck. Human living, however, does stand in need of external goods as means, as has been indicated [163]. But virtuous actions are the principal and predominant factor in a man’s happiness, such that he can be called happy principally because he acts virtuously. On the contrary, vicious actions are powerful and dominant in the opposite state, which is misery, so that he is truly miserable who is occupied with evil deeds.

188. Then, at this contention is strengthened (1100b11), he applies what was said just now [187] to the solution of the problem.

First, he shows that deeds of virtue are especially long-lasting compared to other human things.

Second, at the happy man will have (1100b18; [191]), he shows that, in keeping with what was said, happiness can endure all during life.

Third, at if virtuous actions play (1101b33; [198]), he shows that all inconveniences are avoided if we follow this teaching.

He says first that what we have now learned [186] about the permanence of happiness confirms our contention that virtuous actions are of foremost importance in happiness. The reason is that no human activity is found so uniformly constant as these. It is clear that external goods, and even internal bodily goods, because material and corporeal, are subject to change by their nature. But the goods that belong to the soul are changeable only indirectly, and so less liable to change. Of the goods pertaining to a man’s soul, some belong to the intellect, as the sciences, and some to the activities of living, as the virtues. These virtues are indeed more lasting than the disciplines, that is, the demonstrative sciences.

189. However, this must not be understood as referring to the matter, for demonstrative sciences have as their object necessary things that cannot be otherwise. It is to be understood, rather, as referring to the exercise of the act. Now, we do not have the same opportunity to cultivate the study of the sciences continually as we do to practice virtue, for situations are constantly arising where we must act according to virtue or contrary to virtue, as in the use of food, association with women, conversations with others, and similar actions with which human life is continuously concerned. Hence, it is reasonable that the habit of virtue be more firmly fixed in man because it is used more than the habit of science.

190. Among the virtues themselves, the most noble seem to be more lasting both because they are more intense and because men work more constantly to live according to them. Such are the virtuous operations in which happiness consists, because they are most perfect, as has been proved [128, 130, 150, 160, 164]. This is naturally the reason why man does not forget to be virtuous, because he continually has the occasion to exercise the virtues. Another reason, too, is that virtue consists chiefly in the inclination of the appetite that is not destroyed by forgetfulness.

191. Then, at the happy man will have (1100b18), he shows that, according to this doctrine, happiness can last a lifetime. He says that virtuous actions are most lasting, as was pointed out [188–90]. If, then, happiness be placed principally in them, as we have said [153–90], it would follow that the happy man will have what was inquired about in a previous question—that is, he will be happy all his life.

He proves this first from the actions themselves, at he will always (1100b19; [192]).

192. One who has a habit perfectly can act always or almost continually according to that habit in everything he does. The happy man possesses perfect virtue, as was explained above [187–8]. Consequently, he can always or nearly always perform virtuous actions in a life of activity and can attentively consider in a life of contemplation.

193. Second, at because he is really good (1100b20), he shows the same thing from the goods of fortune, an object of lesser importance in happiness. He says that the happy man will bear all changes of fortune most admirably and will be eminently prudent in all matters, since he is really a good man and not superficially so. He is foursquare without reproach, or as some have explained, perfect in the four cardinal virtues. But this interpretation does not seem to be according to the mind of Aristotle, who has never been found making such an enumeration. The tetragon does, however, indicate something perfect in virtue after the manner of a cube, which has six squared surfaces and so lies evenly on any surface. Similarly, the virtuous person is of an even temperament in any fortune. Since, therefore, it pertains to virtue to bear all fortune becomingly, obviously the happy man will not cease to act virtuously because of any change of fortune.

He shows this then in detail, by way of division, as it were, when he adds many events (1100b22; [194).

194. He says that, since many good and bad things differing in importance may happen by changes of fortune, it is evident that a short run of good luck and, likewise, a short run of bad luck do not change life from happiness to misery, or conversely. If, however, they are great and frequent, they will be either good or bad. If good, they will make a man’s life happier. The reason is that, as was indicated above [169, 173], happiness has need of external goods either as adornments or as means of virtuous actions. In regard to adornments, he says that they were made to enrich the life of man. As to the means of virtuous action, he says that the use of external goods is becoming and virtuous insofar as virtues make use of them to perform worthy deeds.

195. If, on the contrary, the evils should be frequent and great, they will cause the happy man external annoyance and internal affliction, because internally they bring about sadness and externally they hinder good works. However, they do not eliminate virtuous action entirely, because virtue makes good use even of misfortunes themselves. In this way, the good of virtue shines forth insofar as a man gracefully endures frequent and great misfortunes, not because he may not feel the sorrow or sadness, as the Stoics held, but because, being courageous and magnanimous, his reason does not succumb to such afflictions.

196. This, in fact, was the difference between the Stoics and the Peripatetics, whose leader was Aristotle. The Stoics held that sorrow in no way afflicts a virtuous man, because, in their view, corporeal or external things are not in any sense a good of man. The Peripatetics, on the contrary, said that a virtuous man is affected by sadness, yet this does not overwhelm reason, but is moderated by it. In their opinion, corporeal and external things do not constitute the greatest good of man, but the least, and this in the degree that they help him.

197. But it should be observed that some change could happen that would entirely take away a man’s happiness by hindering virtuous action altogether. For example, some sickness could cause madness or insanity or any other mental breakdown. Since happiness may not be attained except by living humanly or in accord with reason, when the use of reason is gone, human living is not possible. Consequently, in what concerns living humanly, the condition of madness must be equated with the condition of death. So it seems we must say the same of him who continues in virtuous action until loss of mind as if he had continued until death.

198. Then, at if virtuous actions play (1101b33), he excludes the unsuitable things that seemed to follow from the premises. He says that, if virtuous actions play the dominant role in happiness, as we have asserted [188], it will not follow that the happy man becomes unhappy on account of misfortunes, or that because of misfortune he will perform hateful and evil actions, namely, contrary to virtue. But, by reason of his perfect virtue, the happy man—it can be predicted—will bear all changes of fortune becomingly like a truly good and wise man. In other words, he will act according to virtue under every condition. Even if he does not perform the same actions in every contingency, he will always act most nobly according as the circumstances are favorable or unfavorable. He will use the material that fortune provides in the way that a good general with an awareness of the condition of his army ought to dispose his existing forces to the best advantage in battle. A commander will do one thing if he has seasoned troops and another if he has an army of raw recruits. Likewise, a cobbler ought to make the best shoes possible from the leather at hand. He will of course make better shoes from one piece of leather than from another. The same may be said of all other craftsmen.

199. If this is so, the unhappy man will not be made happy by any additional good fortune. The reason is that he will use that good fortune badly and the evildoer will always remain unhappy. Likewise, the happy man will not fall into the misfortune of Priam: first, because he will prudently guard against it; second, because if he should be stricken unexpectedly, he will bear it most gracefully, as we have pointed out [198]. He will not, therefore, be changed easily from happiness to unhappiness by any misfortune whatsoever, except by frequent and great changes that deprive him of the use of reason. If he has been made unhappy, he will not readily become happy again, but he will need an abundance of great and noble things acquired after a long time by the exercise of virtuous action and by the restoration of external fortune.

200. Then, when he says what, therefore (1101a14), he brings to an end his own thoughts on happiness. He says that nothing hinders us from calling that man happy who acts in accord with perfect virtue and has sufficient external goods for virtuous activity, not just for a short time but all during life, or at least for a long period. This is enough for a man to be called happy in this life.

201. If we wish to understand happiness in the most perfect sense possible, we must add to the definition of happiness that the happy man will live his whole life as we have indicated [129] and will complete it by dying in a manner befitting reason. It appears that this condition must be added because the future is unknown to us. Now all that is perfect and best seems to belong to the definition of happiness, since it is the ultimate end. In this second way, Solon was speaking of happiness. If the case be as just described [200], we shall call those men happy in this life who have now and will have in the future the conditions we have laid down [177–86].

202. But because these things seem not to measure up in all respects to the conditions required for happiness above [104–17], he adds that those we call happy are men subject to change in this life, who cannot attain perfect beatitude. Since a natural desire is not in vain, we can correctly judge that perfect beatitude is reserved for man after this life. He concludes with the remark that we have said enough on these points.

The Fortune of Friends and Happiness of the Dead

It seems quite foreign to the nature of friendship and contrary to the common opinion to say that changes in the fortunes of descendants and of friends have no influence on man’s happiness. [203]

Many and vastly different things happen in fortune. Since some of these touch us closely and others remotely, it would be a long, even an endless, task to determine the extent of each. It will be enough to discuss the subject in broad and general terms. Some of the fortunes affecting a man himself are of sufficient importance to better the conditions of life while others are of lesser moment. We can affirm the same of the events that happen to friends generally. [204]

It makes much more difference that an experience should happen to the living or the dead than that certain injustices and evils should be indicated as happening before the action of the drama or should be committed in the course of the drama. We must take this difference into consideration. [206]

Perhaps we should rather inquire whether the dead share in any prosperity or adversity. It seems from what has been said that, if any event, either good or bad, affects the dead, it will be fleeting and insignificant in itself or in its effect upon them. If this be the case, then the event will not be so great or of such a nature as to make happy those who are not happy, or to take away happiness from those who have it. [209]

The good actions done by friends, therefore, do have some influence on the dead. Misfortunes too seem to affect them. But all these take place in such a way and to such an extent that they do not make the happy unhappy or produce any other like changes. [210]

203. It seems quite foreign. After the Philosopher has solved the principal doubt concerning the change of fortune for the happy man, here he settles a doubt raised above [183] about the change of fortune in regard to friends.

On this point he does two things.

First, he compares the good fortunes and misfortunes happening to friends with those that happen to a man himself.

Second, at it makes much more (1101a31; [206]), he compares the events that happen to the dead with what happens to the living.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he proposes that the things that happen to one’s friends affect the man himself.

Second, at many and vastly different (1101a24; [204]), he shows what the things are and what their nature is.

He affirms, first, that to say that the prosperity of great grandchildren or of descendants in general and of all friends would have no effect on the happiness of a man, living or dead, seems to be incongruous for two reasons: primarily, indeed, because it would be contrary to the nature of friendship, that is, a union among friends to such an extent that one considers as his own what belongs to the other; then, too, because this would be contrary to the common opinion, which cannot be entirely false.

204. Then, at many vastly different things (1101a24), he shows what events may affect the happiness of a friend and the nature of these events. He says that many and vastly different things happen in prosperity or adversity, in kind, in quantity, in time, and in other respects. Some of them touch us closely and others remotely. If, then, we should wish to determine in every case which of them affect the man himself and which do not, the task would be a long one—in fact almost endless—because differences happen in an infinite variety of ways.

205. With regard to the fortunes affecting a man himself, it is sufficient to note in general, and, so to speak, typically, by way of distinctive qualities or superficial likeness, that some acts of fortune are of sufficient weight and influence to change the condition of human life and do contribute to happiness. Others, however, are of lesser moment and help man’s life but little. The same thing takes place in the events that happen to any of our friends, except that things of lesser moment happening to blood-relatives affect us more.

206. Then, at it makes much more difference (1101a31), he shows in what manner the changing fortunes of friends affect a person—it is rather evident how this touches a man while he lives, and even how this may affect the dead.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows in what way there is a difference in regard to this about the living and the dead.

Second, he inquires whether the lot of friends affect the dead, since it is clear they do affect the living. This he does at perhaps we should rather inquire (1101a34; [209]).

On the first point, we must consider that the dead are outside the present life, the happiness of which Aristotle here intends to inquire about, as appears from what has been previously said [180]. They have contact with this life only as they remain in the memories of the living. The dead, therefore, may be compared in this way to the living—when we consider this life—as the events actually happening now are compared to those that took place long ago and are now recounted—for example, the Trojan war or any incident of this kind.

207. He then remarks that it makes a great difference whether a particular misfortune befalls men while they are living or after they are dead—a far greater difference than it makes in a tragedy whether certain evil deeds like murder, robbery, or any other kind of misfortune be recounted by the playwrights as preceding the action of the drama or are performed in the course of it. The reason is that, in the first case [the living and the dead], the same misfortunes affect them, but in a different way because of their different states, for some are actually engaged in human affairs while others exist only in memory. But, in the second case [in tragedies], the converse is true, for the dramatis personae are all engaged in human affairs but some of the trials befalling them are recounted as here and now taking place, while others as having previously occurred. Because happiness refers rather to persons than to things happening externally, the Philosopher says that the first difference (which refers to the living and the dead), precisely as it pertains to the point at issue, namely, a change of happiness, is of more importance than the second (which refers to actions in tragedies). And by reason of a similar inference concerning the difference of events, he says that we must consider the difference in our question.

208. Now it is clear that, even though a recitation of past evils in a way influences the hearer who is in some measure affected by them, it does not do so to the extent of changing his condition. Consequently, much less do fortunes change the condition of the dead. This is brought out by the Philosopher to clear up, as it were, the statement made above [184] that concluded that, if something affects men who are not conscious, it affects also the dead.

209. Then, at perhaps we should rather inquire (1101a34), he inquires last whether things happening to friends affect the dead in some way.

First, he examines the proposition;

second, he brings to a conclusion his chief proposal at the good actions done by friends (1101b5; [210]).

He says first that we should rather inquire whether the dead in any way share in the prosperity and adversity that take place in this life. That a man is not changed from happiness to unhappiness or the other way round seems sufficiently established. The reason is that, if an event taking place here, either good or bad, affects the dead, it will be fleeting and insignificant in itself or in its effect on them. But if this is the case, it will not be so great or of such a nature as to make them happy who are not happy or to take away happiness from them who have it. It has been said already [194] that trifling happenings do not cause a change in life. If, then, an insignificant event among the things that happen affects the dead, it follows that their condition of happiness will not be changed.

210. Then, at the good actions done by friends (1101b5), he concludes his opinion. He says that the good actions done by friends or the evil befalling them seem to have some influence on the dead, and misfortunes too seem to affect them. But these take place in such a manner and to such an extent that they do not make the happy unhappy or the unhappy happy, nor do they change the dead in such things as wisdom or virtue or the like. However, the construction can be conditioned by the words if this be the case. Then the statement do have some influence will be properly conditional, and the conjunctive particle will be superfluous.

211. It seems that Aristotle intends that the things said here are to be understood of the dead not as they are in themselves, but as they live in the memory of men. In this way, what happens to their friends after death seems to affect the dead such that their memory and glory become more distinct or more obscure. But this, he says, is indeed a fleeting thing, because nothing is more fleeting than what exists only in the opinion of men. He says also that it is an insignificant thing especially for the dead themselves, because it belongs to them only to the extent they are remembered by men.

212. But the questions of whether the souls of men survive in some fashion after death and of whether they are aware of or are changed in any way by what occurs in this life do not pertain to our purpose, since the Philosopher here is treating of the happiness of the present life, as is evident from what was said above [206]. Consequently, inquiries of this kind, which need to be considered at some length, must be omitted at this point lest, in this science, which is practical, many discussions outside its scope be carried on—a procedure that the Philosopher condemned [136]. Elsewhere we have treated these subjects more fully.

Happiness, a Good Deserving Honor

Having settled these matters, we must investigate whether happiness is one of the goods to be praised or, more properly, to be honored. It is obviously not in the genus of potentiality. [213]

Now a thing that is praiseworthy has a certain proportion in itself and some sort of relation to another. [215]

Thus, we generally praise the just, the brave, and the good man, and even virtue itself, because of the works and actions. We praise also the physically strong, the swift, and the like as possessing a certain natural ability, and as ordered in some way to a thing good in itself and desirable. [216]

Our point is obvious too from the praises of the gods, for such praises would be ridiculous if judged by our standard. This happens because praises are given by reason of relation to another, as we have indicated. [218]

If praise belongs to things of this kind, clearly something greater and better than praise is given to the best. [219]

This seems to be true, for we call gods blessed and happy, as we do the most god-like among men. We speak in a similar way of goods, for no one praises happiness as he praises a just man, but he ascribes to happiness something better and more divine, namely, blessedness. [220]

Apparently Eudoxus put pleasure in the first place for a good reason. He thought that this is intimated from the fact that pleasure is a good not praised but is better than things praised, such as God and any good in itself. To things of this kind, other things are referred. [221]

Praise surely belongs to virtue, since doers of good works are praised for activity of body and of soul in accord with virtue. But perhaps a consideration of this subject more properly belongs to those who labor over the study of laudatory statements. It is obvious now to us from our discussion that happiness is a perfect good and one to be honored. [222]

This appears to be true also from the nature of a principle. Now, men do all that they do for the sake of happiness. But we look upon such a principle and cause of good as something divine and a thing to be honored. [223]

213. Having settled these matters. After the Philosopher has shown what happiness is, here he inquires about a certain property of happiness.

First, he asks a question;

second, he ascertains the truth, at now a thing that is praiseworthy (1101b12; [215]).

He says that, after determining the preceding matters, it is necessary to examine whether happiness is of the number of goods to be honored or to be praised. He proves that happiness must be contained under the one or the other kind of good by the fact that happiness is not in the genus of potentiality. A man is not praised or honored because he has the potentiality to good, but because he is somehow disposed to good.

214. To have an understanding of this question, we must consider that honor and praise differ in a twofold manner.

First, they differ on the part of that in which honor or praise consists. In this respect, honor is more extensive than praise. Honor signifies testimony manifesting a person’s excellence either by word or by deed, as when one genuflects to another or rises for him. But praise consists only in words.

Second, praise and honor differ in regard to that for which they are given, for both are given on account of some excellence. Now there are two kinds of excellence. One is absolute, and in this sense, honor is due to it. But the other is an excellence in relation to some end, and in this sense, praise is due.

215. Then, at now a thing that is (1101b12), he answers the question.

First, he shows that happiness is of the number of goods to be honored because it is a thing perfect and best.

Second, he shows the same thing from the fact that happiness has the nature of a principle, at this appears to be true also (1102a2; [223]).

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he shows to whom praise is given.

Second, he concludes that something better than praise is given to the best.

In regard to the initial point, he does two things.

First, he presents his proposition.

Second, he proves the proposition at thus, we generally praise the just (1101b14; [216]).

He says first that everything that is praised seems to be praiseworthy for two reasons simultaneously: because it has a certain kind of disposition in itself and because it has a relation of some sort to another.

216. Then, at thus, we generally praise (1101b14), he proves the proposition:

first, from human praises;

second, from divine praises at our point is obvious too from the praises of the gods (1101b18; [218]).

In regard to the first, we must consider that a man is praised both because of virtue of mind and because of power or strength of body. By reason of virtue of mind, a man (for instance, one who is just or brave or virtuous in any way) is praised for having virtue. The virtue also is praised, and this is because of something else, namely, virtuous works and actions. The virtuous man and virtue itself, then, are praised insofar as they are ordered to do the work of virtue.

Second, a man is praised by reason of power or strength of body because he is strong in fighting, swift in running, and so forth. This happens because the athlete is, in a way, ordered to something good in itself and desirable as worthy of achievement.

217. We must pay attention to the difference between virtues or powers of mind and body. It is sufficient in the praise of virtue of soul that a man be well disposed to the proper act of the virtue. The reason is that the good of man consists in the very act of virtue, for instance, for running or for wrestling. Human goodness does not consist in such things, since a man can run, wrestle, or fight for both a good and an evil purpose. Consequently, when speaking of the praises of the virtues of the soul, he said they are praised because of works and actions (that flow from them). But in speaking of the powers of the body, he indicated that they are praised in relation to something else.

218. Then, at our point is obvious too (1101b18), he explains what is meant by divine praises. If something be praiseworthy absolutely and not as related to some other thing, it follows that the thing is praiseworthy in all circumstances. But this is clearly false in the case of praises given to separated substances that he calls gods. It would seem ridiculous to praise them for things that are praised in men, for instance, because they are not overcome by concupiscence or fear. This is so because praises are given by reason of a relation to something else, as has been pointed out [214].

219. Then, at if praise (1101b21), he concludes his proposition from what has been said.

First, he puts the conclusion this way. Praise is given to the things whose goodness is considered in relation to something else. But the best things are not ordered to anything else, but rather other things are ordered to them. Therefore, something better than praise is given to the best. In a somewhat similar way, there is no science for the study of speculative principles, but something higher than science, understanding. Science is concerned with conclusions that are known by means of principles. Likewise, praise is concerned with things whose goodness is for the sake of others. But honor, a thing better than praise, is concerned with things to which other things are ordered.

220. Second, at this seems to be true (1101b23), he proves the previous conclusion from what is commonly held:

first, in regard to the things of which there is something better than praise;

second, in regard to the things of which there is praise at praise surely belongs (1101b31; [222]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

To prove his proposition, he first presents what seems to be commonly held,

and second, what seemed so to Eudoxus at apparently Eudoxus (1101b27; [221]).

He says first that it seems commonly held that there is something better than praise for the best. This is made clear from the fact that those ascribing to the gods, as it were, something better than praise call them blessed and happy. They say the same, too, of the best among men who have a certain likeness to the gods by reason of excellence. As we ascribe something better than praise to the best among men, so also to the best of goods like happiness. No one praises happiness in the way he praises a just or virtuous man. Something better is ascribed to happiness when we call it blessedness.

221. Then, at apparently Eudoxus (1101b27; [221]), he reduces the saying of Eudoxus to the same argument. Now Eudoxus called pleasure the first fruits of good, saying that pleasure is the supreme good, thinking this is intimated from the following. Pleasure is a good that is not praised because it is something better in itself than the things that are praised. No one, indeed, is praised on account of pleasure—for instance, God and any other good in itself. This is because things whose goodness is praised are referred to things good in themselves. Things that are praised are praised precisely because they are somehow related to the things that are good in themselves.

222. Then, at praise surely (1101b31), he proves what he said in respect of the things to which praise is given. He says that praise belongs to virtue, which makes us doers of good works, for a person is praised because of activity of body or soul, as was just mentioned [216–17]. But a consideration of the words used by men in bestowing compliments pertains more properly to rhetoricians, who labor over the study of laudatory statements. It belongs to the kind of subject that deals with praise or dispraise—one of the three falling under the study of rhetoric, as is clear from the Philosopher¹ and from Cicero in his Rhetoric.² So far as we are concerned, it is obvious from the above [220] that happiness is of the number of goods to be honored because it is a perfect good.

223. Then, at this appears to be true also (1102a2), he proves his proposition from the nature of a principle. We look upon the principle and the cause of goods as a thing to be honored, for it is, as it were, something divine, since God is the first principle of all good. But happiness is the principle of all human good because men do all that they do by reason of happiness. Now the end in things to be done and things to be desired has the nature of a principle, because the nature of the means is understood from the end. Hence, it follows that happiness is a good to be honored.

Happiness and Virtue

If, then, happiness is a kind of operation according to perfect virtue, we must investigate the question of virtue. In this way, we shall perhaps make a more profound study of happiness. [224]

Now political science really seems to be concerned especially with the attainment of virtue. Its object is to produce good citizens obedient to the laws, as is exemplified by the lawmakers of the Cretes and the Spartans, and others like them. If this investigation belongs to political science, the study will be obviously conducted according to the disposition we made in the beginning. [225]

The virtue we are investigating, then, will be human virtue, for we were seeking human good and human happiness. Now, we call that virtue “human” that is proper not to the body, but to the soul. Besides, we say that happiness is an activity of the soul. Since this is so, obviously the statesman must know to some extent the things pertaining to the soul, as he who is to heal the eyes or the whole body should know something about physiology. In fact, the knowledge of the statesman should be greater insofar as political science is nobler and more important than medicine. But skillful physicians make it their business to know much about the body. Therefore, the statesman must study the soul. [226]

The soul must be studied for the sake of the objects investigated and to the extent that suffices for them. To make a more exhaustive study would be a greater task than the subject requires. [228]

Certain things about the soul are adequately treated in extraneous discourses. We should use these—for instance, the distinction of the soul into irrational and rational. [229]

But whether the parts are distinct as particles of a body or anything physically divisible, or whether the parts are indivisible in nature and distinguishable according to reason alone, as the convex and concave of the circumference of a circle, is irrelevant to the present question. [230]

224. If, then, happiness. After the Philosopher has finished the treatise on happiness, he begins the consideration of virtue.

First, he premises certain things necessary for the study of virtue.

Second, he will begin to define virtue in the beginning of book 2 at virtue is of two kinds (1103a14; [245]).

In regard to the first, he does three things.

First, he shows that it pertains to this science to study virtue.

Second, at the virtue we are (1102a13; [226]), he assumes certain things we must know about the parts of the soul.

Third, at virtue is divided (1103a3; [243]), he divides virtue according to the division of the parts of the soul.

He proves the initial point in two ways.

First, by a reason taken from the doctrine on happiness. It was pointed out previously [128, 130, 150, 160, 164, 175, 187, 190] that happiness is an action according to perfect virtue. Hence, we can study happiness better by means of knowledge of virtue. In keeping with this, he completes the treatise on happiness when he finishes the study of all the virtues in book 10 [1953–2180]. Since, then, the principal object of this science is the good of man, which is happiness, an inquiry into virtue fittingly comes within the scope of this science.

225. Second, at now political science (1102a7), he proves the proposition from the particular nature of this science. Political science seems really to make a special study of virtue and its attainment. Indeed, the object of political science is to produce good citizens obedient to the laws (as is evident from the lawmakers of the Cretes and the Spartans, who had model states, and from others framing similar laws to make men virtuous). But the study of the present science is connected with political science because its principles are given here. Obviously, then, a consideration of virtue will be suitable to this science. Accordingly, in the introduction [25–31], we placed political science, which investigates the ultimate end of human actions, above all other sciences.

226. Then, at the virtue (1102a13), he takes up certain questions pertaining to the parts of the soul, which are necessary for the knowledge of virtues. On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows it is necessary that such things be discussed in this science.

Second, he takes them up at certain things about the soul (1102a26; [229]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows that it is necessary in this science to consider certain questions about the parts of the soul.

Second, at the soul must be studied (1102a23; [228]), he shows how we must consider these questions.

First, since it is our intention to investigate virtue, we understand that we are speaking of human virtue. We have just now noted [224] that we are looking for human good and human happiness in this science. If, therefore, we seek virtue for the sake of happiness, we necessarily seek human virtue. But that virtue is peculiarly human which is proper to the soul, for it does not belong to the body, nor is it shared in common with other beings. Pertinent here is what we said before that happiness is an activity of the soul [123–6].

227. In the study of the soul whose virtue he seeks, the statesman is compared to the physician who studies the body seeking its health. Obviously, then, the statesman must know to some extent the things belonging to the soul, as the physician who treats the eyes and the whole body must study something about the eyes and the whole body. The obligation of the statesman to study the soul whose virtue he seeks is greater because political science is more important than the science of medicine—a fact we know from what was said previously [25–30]. Consequently, the study of political science must be more thorough. We see that skillful physicians study many things that will give them a knowledge of the body and not merely what concerns cures. Hence, a statesman gives some thought to the soul.

228. Then, at the soul must be studied (1102a23), he shows in what way the statesman ought to investigate these things. In this science, he says, the soul must be studied for the sake of these, that is, the virtues and human actions that are the principle objects here investigated. Therefore, the study of the soul must be such as suffices for the things chiefly sought. If a man should wish to make a more exhaustive study, he will be imposing a greater task than the object of our investigation requires. So, too, in all other things sought for the sake of an end, the extent of them must be measured according to the end itself.

229. Then, at certain things about the soul (1102a26), he takes up the things we must consider here about the parts of the soul.

First, he divides the parts of the soul into rational and irrational.

Second, at one part of the irrational soul (1102a32; [231]), he subdivides the irrational.

Third, at if, however, we must (1103a1; [242]), he will subdivide the rational part of the soul.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he gives the division.

Second, at but whether the parts (1102a28; [230]), he says that a certain question must be left unanswered.

He says first that certain things about the soul have been adequately treated in the book De anima, which he calls extraneous discussions because he wrote the book as an epistle to persons living at a considerable distance. The books that he was accustomed to teach his students (auditors) were called reports or notes (auditions), as the books of the Physics are entitled On the Audition of Classes about Nature; or they are called extraneous for the better reason that they are outside the scope of the immediate science. However, here we must use the things discussed in that book, for instance, one part of the soul is rational, another part irrational, as is asserted in De anima.¹

230. Then, at but whether the parts (1102a28; [230]), he asks a certain question which is to be left unanswered intentionally. Are the two parts of the soul, rational and irrational, distinct from one another in their subject according to location and position, as particles of a body or of some other divisible continuum? Plato located the rational part or power in the brain, the emotional part in the heart, and the assimilative part in the liver. Or perhaps these two parts are not divided according to subject, but only in concept, as in the circumference of a circle, where the curved, or convex, and concave are not distinguished by subject, but in concept alone. He says that, so far as it concerns us at present, it does not matter which opinion is held. Hence, he leaves the question unanswered because it does not pertain to our present purpose.

Subdivisions of the Irrational Soul

One part of the irrational soul is the vegetative soul common to all living things. By vegetative, I understand that part that is the cause of nutrition and growth. Such a power of the soul is found in all things that assimilate food. It is found even in embryos and in the lowest forms of animal life. To these it is more reasonable to assign the vegetative part than some other. [231]

Because this power is common, it follows that it is not human. [233]

It seems that the vegetative part and potency of the soul are most active during sleep. Now, good and evil persons are hardly distinguishable in their sleep. Hence the saying that the happy are no better off than the miserable for half their lives. This is a reasonable doctrine, for sleep is a cessation from the operation according to which the soul is called good or evil. Yet perhaps certain activities do penetrate the soul of the sleeper gradually. In this way, the dreams of the virtuous become better than the dreams of other persons. But what we have now said on this subject will suffice. Therefore, discussion of the nutritive part must come to an end because it has no part in human virtue. [234]

Seemingly there is another part of the soul, irrational also but participating in reason to some extent. [236]

We praise the rational principle in the incontinent and continent man, for reason rightly induces to what is best. But something besides reason seems to be innate in them thay conflicts with reason and resists reason. As paralyzed members of the body are said to move wrongly to the left contrary to the will choosing the right, so also in the soul, for the movement of the incontinent are to things contrary to reason. While the uncontrolled movement can be seen in bodies, it is invisible in the soul. Nevertheless, we must judge that there is something in the soul besides reason that is contrary and resistant to reason. But how this differs from reason does not matter at present. [237]

Now this part seems to share in reason, as we have said. Therefore, as found in the continent man, it is obedient to reason. But it is even more fully subject in the sober and courageous man whose every act harmonizes with reason. [239]

Apparently the irrational part is twofold. The vegetative power does not partake of reason at all. But the concupiscible power and every appetitive power participate to some extent, because they heed and are obedient to reason. Therefore, we say that reason holds the place of a father and friends, but not of mathematicians. [240]

Persuasion, reproach, and entreaty in all cases indicate that the irrational principle is somewhat influenced by reason. [241]

If, however, we must say that this part shares in reason, then the rational will be of two kinds: one having reason principally and of itself, the other obedient to the reason as to a father. [242]

Virtue is divided according to this difference, for we call some virtues intellectual, others moral. Wisdom, understanding, and prudence are said to be intellectual virtues, while liberality and sobriety are called moral. When speaking of man’s good morals, we do not describe him as wise or intelligent, but as mild-tempered or sober. We do praise a person for acquiring the habit of wisdom, since praiseworthy habits are called virtues. [243]

231. One part of the irrational soul. After the philosopher has divided the parts of the soul into rational and irrational, here he subdivides the irrational part.

First, he presents one member of the subdivision;

second, he presents the other, at seemingly there is another part (1102b13; [236]).

In regard to the initial point, he does two things.

First, he mentions an irrational part of the soul.

Second, he shows that this part is not properly human, at because this power (1102b2; [233]).

He says first that one of the parts of the irrational soul is like the plant soul and is common to all things living here below. It is that part that is the cause of assimilation and growth. Such a part of the soul is found in every being that assimilates food, not only after birth but even before birth, as in embryos, which are obviously nourished and grow.

232. Likewise, this part of the soul is discovered not only in the highly organized animals having all the senses and endowed with local motion but also in the lowest animals, like oysters, having only the sense of touch and rooted to one place. Evidently, all these creatures live and have some kind of soul. But this vegetative type of soul, rather than some other part, is more reasonably assigned to these lowest animals because the effects of this part are more evident in them.

233. Then, at because this power (1102b2), he shows that the aforementioned part of the soul is not human.

First, he concludes this from the premises. We call human that which is distinctive of man. If, then, a part of the soul is altogether common, it will not be human.

234. Second, at it seems that (1102b3), he adds a proof from a particular evident sign. This part of the soul is found to be especially active during sleep, for when the natural heat has returned to the internal organs and the animal is asleep, digestion works better. But what is proper to man precisely as he is said to be good or evil operates only slightly during sleep. Good and evil persons are hardly distinguishable in their sleep. Hence the saying that the happy do not differ from the unhappy for half their life, which is spent in sleep. The reason is that judgment of the intellect is bound during sleep, and the external senses do not function, although the imagination and the power of nutrition are active.

235. It is reasonable that the good and evil, the happy and the unhappy, are indistinguishable while asleep, because that part of man by which he is called “good” ceases to function during sleep. Good and evil men differ while asleep not on account of a difference occurring during their slumbers, but because of what happened in their waking moments. Conscious activity gradually penetrates to the soul of the sleeper, such that the things a man has seen or heard or thought while awake present themselves to his imagination in sleep. In this way, the virtuous who spend their wakeful hours in good works have more edifying dreams than other persons who occupy their conscious moments with idle and evil works. What we have now said on this subject will suffice [234–5]. We conclude, then, from the premises [233–5], that the nutritive part of the soul is not adapted by nature to participate in human virtue.

236. Then, at seemingly there is (1102b13), he presents the other member of the division.

First, he indicates what he intends;

second, he proves his proposition, at we praise the rational (1102b14; [237]).

He says first that, besides the vegetative part of the soul, there seems to be another part, irrational like the vegetative but participating in reason to some extent. In this, it differs from the vegetative part, which has nothing whatsoever to do with human virtue, as was just said [235].

237. Then, at we praise the rational (1102b14), he proves his proposition:

first, that there is another part of the irrational soul;

second, that this part participates in reason, at now this part seems to share in reason (1102b25; [239]).

He proves the first by an argument taken from continent and incontinent men. In this matter, we praise the part of the soul having reason because it rightly deliberates and induces to what is best, as if by entreaty and persuasion. Both—continent and incontinent—choose to abstain from unlawful pleasures. But seemingly in both there is something innate in them other than reason, and this something conflicts with reason and resists it, or hinders it in the execution of its choice. Obviously, it is something irrational, since it is contrary to reason. The sensitive appetite, which desires what is pleasant to sense and at times opposes what reason judges absolutely good, would be such a thing. This appetite in the continent man is restrained by reason, for he certainly has evil desires, but his reason does not follow them. On the other hand, the appetite in the incontinent man overcomes reason, which is seduced by evil desires.

238. Then he adds an illustration. The members of the body are incapacitated when they cannot be controlled by the regulative power of the soul, as happens to paralytics and the intoxicated, who move to the left side when they wish to move to the right. This is true also of the souls of incontinent persons, who are moved to the opposite of what the reason chooses. But the process is not so apparent in the parts of the soul as in the parts of the body. We see clearly in what way a bodily member moves unnaturally, but the movement of the parts of the soul is not so obvious to us. Despite this, we must judge that there is something that is contrary to reason and resists it. But how this may differ from reason—whether by subject or by concept alone—does not matter at present.

239. Then, at now this part (1102b25), he shows that an irrational part of this kind participates in reason.

His first argument is based on acts taking place within man;

his second, at persuasion, reproach, and entreaty (1102b33; [241]), is based on acts external to man.

With the first he does two things.

First, he shows that this irrational part participates in reason.

Second, he finishes the treatment of the difference of this irrational part from the part presented above, at apparently the irrational part (1102b28; [240]).

He says first that the irrational part, of which we have now spoken [233–5], seems in some way to participate in reason, as was just said [236]. This is obvious in the continent man, whose sensitive appetite obeys reason. Although he may have evil desires, nevertheless he does not act according to them, but according to reason. In the sober or temperate man, this part of the soul is even more fully subject to reason. Such a man has so subdued his sensitive appetite that evil desires in him are not vehement. We may say the same of the courageous man and of anyone endowed with the habit of moral virtue. The reason is that, in these men, nearly everything harmonizes with reason, both external actions and internal desires.

240. Then, at apparently the irrational (1102b28), he concludes the difference between the two irrational parts from the premises. He says that, according to the premises, the irrational part is apparently twofold. Now the vegetative part, found in plants, does not partake of reason in any way, for it is not obedient to the direction of reason. But the concupiscible power and every appetitive power, like the irascible emotion and the will, participate in reason in some measure, because they heed the movement of the reason and are obedient to its regulations. Hence, we say reason holds the place of a father giving guidance and of friends offering advice. But reason here does not play the role of a mere theorist, like the reason of a mathematician, for the irrational part of the soul does not partake in any way of reason understood in this sense.

241. Then, at persuasion, reproach, and entreaty (1102b33), he shows through the things externally done that the irrational part participates in reason. In his opinion, this is indicated from the fact that the persuasion of friends, the reproach of superiors, and the entreaties of inferiors aim to keep a man from following his desires. But all these would be useless unless this part of the irrational soul could share in reason. From this, too, it is apparent that reason is not controlled by the movements of the passions of the sensitive appetite, but quite the contrary—reason can restrain such movements. Therefore, reason is not governed by the motions of the heavenly bodies, which can effect some change in the sensitive appetite of the soul through a change in the human body. Since the intellect or reason is not a faculty of any bodily organ, it is not directly subject to the action of any bodily power. The same is true of the will that is in the reason, as was said in De anima.¹

242. Then, at if, however (1103a1), he subdivides the other member of the first division, the rational part of the soul. According to him (if we must say that that part of the soul that participates in reason is rational in some way), the rational part will be of two kinds: one, having reason principally and in itself, is rational by nature, but the other is inherently adapted to obey reason as a father, and is called rational by participation. In accord with this, one member is contained under both rational and irrational. Now, one part of the soul, the vegetative, is irrational alone; another part is rational alone, the intellect and reason. Still another part is of itself irrationa,l but rational by participation, like the sensitive appetite and the will.

243. Then, at virtue is divided (1103a3), he divides virtue according to this difference in the parts of the soul. He says that virtue is designated or divided according to the above-mentioned difference in the parts of the soul. Since human virtue perfects the work of man that is done according to reason, human virtue must consist in something reasonable. Since the reasonable is of two kinds, by nature and by participation, it follows that there are two kinds of human virtue. One of these is placed in what is rational by nature and is called intellectual. The other is placed in what is rational by participation, that is, in the appetitive part of the soul, and is called moral. Therefore, he says, we call some of the virtues intellectual and some moral. Wisdom, understanding, and prudence are said to be intellectual virtues, while liberality and sobriety are called moral.

244. He proves this point from human praises. When we wish to praise someone for good morals, we do not describe him as wise and intelligent, but as sober and mild-tempered. We do not praise a man for good morals alone but also for the habit of wisdom. Praiseworthy habits are called virtues. Therefore, besides the moral virtues, there are also intellectual virtues like wisdom, understanding, and some others of this kind. Thus ends book 1.

Moral Virtue is Caused by Habit

Virtue is of two kinds, intellectual and moral. The intellectual is generated and fostered for the most part by teaching, and so requires time and experience. Moral virtue, however, is derived from mores, or customary action. Hence, by a slight variation of the original term, we have this name “moral.” [245]

From this it is clear that moral virtue is not instilled in us by nature, for nothing natural is changed by habit; thus a stone, which naturally gravitates downward, will never become accustomed to moving upward, not even if someone should continue to throw it into the air ten thousand times. Neither will fire become accustomed to tend downward, nor will anything else that naturally tends one way acquire the contrary custom. Therefore, the moral virtues are not in us by nature, nor are they in us contrary to nature. We do have a natural aptitude to acquire them, but we are perfected in these virtues by use. [248]

Again, in the things that come to us from nature, we first receive the potentialities, and afterward we put them into operation. This is obvious in the case of the senses, for we did not acquire our senses from seeing and hearing repeatedly, but on the contrary, we made use of the senses after we had them—we did not come into possession of them after we used them. Virtues, however, we acquire by previous activity, as happens in different arts, for the things we must learn how to make, we learn by making. Thus, men become builders by building and harpists by playing the harp. Likewise, we become just by doing just actions, we become temperate by doing temperate actions, and we become courageous by doing courageous actions. [250]

Our contention is verified by what is done in the state, for legislators make men good in accordance with political norms. Such is the aim of every legislator. In fact, he who does not succeed in this fails in lawmaking. It is precisely in this way that a good constitution differs from a bad one. [251]

Again, every virtue has both its origin and its deterioration from the same principles. A similar situation is found in any art, for it is from playing the harp that both good and bad harpists are made. Proportionately, this can be said of builders and of all the rest. Men become good builders from building well, but they become poor builders by building poorly. If this were not so, there would be no need of a teacher, but all would be born good or bad workmen. This is the case also with virtue. Of those who engage in transactions with their fellow men, some become just and others unjust. Of those exposed to dangers who habitually experience fear or confidence, some become brave and some cowardly. We may say the same of men in reference to concupiscence and anger, for some become temperate and mild, but others self-indulgent and irascible; some conduct themselves well in these matters, but others badly. We may then universally state in one sentence: like actions produce like habits. [252]

Therefore, we must cultivate actions of the right sort, because differences in actions are followed by differences in habits. It is not of small moment but it matters a great deal— more than anything else—whether one becomes promptly accustomed to good or bad habits from youth. [254]

245. Virtue is of two kinds. After the Philosopher has treated the questions introductory to virtue, he now begins the study of the virtues.

He divides the treatise into two parts.

In the first part, he treats the virtues themselves.

In the second, he examines certain things that follow or accompany the virtues. He does this in book 7, at now, making a new start, we must say (1145a15; [1292]).

The first part is subdivided into two sections.

In the first, he studies the moral virtues.

In the second, the intellectual virtues, in book 6, at but since we previously said (1138b18; [1109]). The reason for this order is that the moral virtues are more known, and through them we are prepared for a study of the intellectual virtues.

The first part is divided into two parts:

In the first part, he investigates the matter of the moral virtues in general.

In the second, he examines the moral virtues specifically, at we stated previously (1115a6; [528]).

This first is again subdivided into two parts.

In the first of these, he treats moral virtue in general.

In the second, he examines certain principles of moral actions. This is in book 3, beginning at since virtue is concerned with passions (1109b30; [382]).

This first has a threefold division.

In the first part, he is looking for the cause of moral virtue.

In the second, he seeks to find out what moral virtue is, at now we must search out the definition of virtue.¹

In the third part, he shows how a man may become virtuous, at a sufficient explanation has been given.¹

On the initial point, he does three things.

First, he shows that moral virtue is caused in us by actions.

Second, he shows by what actions it may be caused in us, at the present study (1103b26; [255]).

Third, he finds a particular problem in what was previously said, at someone may rightly ask (1105a17; [280]).

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he shows the cause of the formation of virtue;

second, what the cause of its destruction is, at again, every virtue (1103b6; [252]).

On the initial point, he does three things.

First, he proposes that moral virtue originates in us from the habit of acting.

Second, that moral virtue is not in us by nature, at from this it is clear (1103a18; [248]).

Third, he explains by a sign what he had said, at our contention is verified by what is done (1103b2; [251]).

246. He says first that virtue is of two kinds, intellectual and moral, and that the intellectual is both generated and increased for the most part by teaching. The reason is that intellectual virtue is ordered to knowledge which we acquire more readily from teaching than by discovery. More people can know the truth by learning from others than can by ascertaining it themselves. Everyone indeed who finds out from others will learn more than he can discover by himself. But because we cannot proceed to in the process of learning, men must learn many truths by discovery. Besides, since all our knowledge is derived from the senses, and the senses in turn very often beget experience, it follows that intellectual virtue may need long experience.

247. But moral virtue is derived from customary activity. Now moral virtue, found in the appetitive part, implies a certain inclination to something desirable. This inclination is either from nature, which tends to what is agreeable to itself, or from custom, which is transformed into nature. Hence, the name of moral virtue, differing somewhat from custom, is taken from it. In Greek, ethos spelled with an epsilon (a short “e”) means “habit” or “moral virtue,” while ethos spelled with an eta (a long “e”) signifies “custom.” With us, the name “moral” likewise sometimes means “custom” and other times is used in relation to vice or virtue.

248. Then, at from this it is clearly (1103a18; [248]), he proves from the premises that moral virtue is not produced by nature for two reasons.

The first is that none of the things from nature are changed by use. He illustrates this point by the example of a stone that, naturally tending downward, will never become accustomed to moving upward, no matter how often it is thrown into the air. The reason is that things which operate naturally either merely operate or both operate and are operated upon. If they merely operate, their principle of action is not changed. So long as the cause remains the same, the inclination to the same effect remains. If, however, they so operate as also to be operated upon—unless the passivity be such that it removes the principle of action—the natural tendency in them will not be destroyed. But if the passivity be such as to take away the principle of action, then it will not belong to the same nature. Thus, what was previously natural will cease to be natural. When a thing operates naturally, therefore, no change is effected regarding its action. The same is also true if the operation is contrary to nature unless perhaps the motion be such that it destroys nature. But, if the natural principle of the operation remains, there will always be the same action. Therefore, habit plays no part in the things that are according to nature and in the things that are contrary to nature.

249. The reason for this is that moral virtue pertains to the appetite that operates according as it is moved by the good apprehended. When the appetite operates often, therefore, it must be often moved by its object. In this, the appetite follows a certain tendency in accordance with the mode of nature, as many drops of water falling on a rock hollow it out. Thus, it is obvious that the moral virtues are not in us by nature, nor are they in us contrary to nature. We do have a natural aptitude to acquire them, inasmuch as the appetitive potency is naturally adapted to obey reason. But we are perfected in these virtues by use, for when we act repeatedly according to reason, a modification is impressed in the appetite by the power of reason. This impression is nothing else but moral virtue.

250. He presents the second reason at again, in the things (1103a26). In all the things with which nature has endowed us, potency is previous to operation. This is obvious in the senses. We did not receive the sense of sight and hearing from seeing and hearing repeatedly. On the contrary, from the fact that we had these senses, we began to use them. It did not happen that we came into possession of the senses from the fact that we used them. But we have acquired the virtues by acting according to virtue, as happens in the operative arts, in which men learn by making the things that are to be made after they have mastered the skill. In this way, men become builders by building and harpists by playing the harp. Likewise, men become just or temperate or courageous by doing just actions or temperate actions or courageous actions. Therefore, virtues of this kind are not in us by nature.

251. Then, at our contention is verified (1103b2), he makes known what he had said by a sign. He says the statement just made—that by performing actions we become virtuous—is verified by what is done in the state. Legislators make men virtuous by habituating them to virtuous works by means of statutes, rewards, and punishment. Such ought to be the aim of every legislator—in fact, he who does not succeed in this fails in lawmaking. It is precisely in this way that a good constitution differs from a bad one.

252. Then, at again, every virtue (1103b6), he shows that virtue is produced and destroyed by identical works.

First, he explains his proposition;

second, he infers a corollary from what has been said, at therefore, we must (1103b22; [254]).

He says first that the production and the destruction of virtue have their source in the same principles taken in a different way. The same is true in any art. He shows this first from activities, because men become both good and bad harpists—understanding this proportionately—from the way they play the harp. A similar reason holds for builders and all other workmen. Men become good builders by building well repeatedly; they become poor builders by building poorly. If this were not so, men would not need to learn arts of this kind from some master workman who would direct their actions, but there would be good and bad workmen in all the arts no matter how they would be practiced. As it is in the arts, so also in the virtues.

253. Those who act well in their dealings with their fellow men become just, and those who act in an evil way become unjust. Likewise, those faced with danger who accustom themselves to fear and confidence in the right way become courageous; in the wrong way, cowardly. This is true also of temperance and meekness in the matter of concupiscence and anger. We may then universally sum up in one sentence: like actions produce like habits.

254. Then, at therefore, we must (1103b22), he affirms that a person must give careful attention to the performance of such actions because differences in actions are followed by differences in habits. He concludes, therefore, that it is not of small moment that one becomes accustomed to perform either good or evil actions from earliest youth, but it makes a great difference—indeed, everything depends on it—for we retain longer the things impressed on us as children.

Virtue and Action

The present study is not pursued for the sake of contemplation, like other studies. We seek the definition of virtue not in order to know, but in order to become virtuous; otherwise, it would have no utility. We must, then, thoroughly investigate what concerns actions and how they are to be performed, for actions control the formation of habits, as we have pointed out. [255]

To be in accord with right reason is a quality common to these actions and should be taken for granted. Later, we will discuss the question both as to the definition of right reason and as to how right reason is related to the other virtues. [257]

It must be presupposed that any discussion concerning actions to be performed ought to be given in a general way and not definitively. We remarked in the beginning that discussions must be pursued according to the nature of the subject matter. Now, things pertaining to actions, and relevant considerations, do not have anything fixed about them any more than the things that concern health. If this be true in the general treatment, still more uncertainty will be found in the consideration of particular cases. Indeed, this study does not fall under either art or tradition. But those who perform moral actions must always pay attention to what is appropriate to the occasion, as is done in medicine and navigation. Although this is the situation, we ought to try to be of assistance to others in the present study. [258]

We must, then, first consider that moral matters are of such a nature as to be destroyed by defect and excess. To prove such notions that are not readily manifest, we must use obvious signs and evidence such as we have in the case of bodily strength and health. An excessive amount of exercise impairs health no less than does a lack of it. Likewise, eating and drinking either too much or too little causes damage to health. But health is produced, increased, and preserved by eating and drinking in moderation. It is the same, then, with temperance and fortitude and the other virtues. The man who is afraid of everything, who runs away, and who will endure nothing becomes a coward. On the other hand, the man who fears absolutely nothing and wades into every danger becomes reckless. Likewise, a man who tastes every pleasure and passes up none becomes intemperate, while he who seeks to avoid all pleasures like a boor becomes, as it were, insensible. Temperance and fortitude are destroyed by excess and defect but are preserved by the golden mean. [260]

Not only do the production, increase, and destruction of virtues have identical sources and causes, but the actions themselves also have the same sources and causes. We see this in the more obvious actions like bodily strength. A man becomes strong from taking abundant nourishment and from hard work. Then, when he is strong, he will be more able to do these things. We find the same thing in the virtues, since we become temperate by giving up pleasures, and having become temperate we can very easily give up pleasures. The same is true of the virtue of fortitude. We become brave by accustoming ourselves to despise and endure terrors, and having become brave we are very capable of enduring terrors. [264]

255. The present study is not pursued. After the Philosopher has shown that virtues are caused in us by actions, he now inquires how this is done.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows what are the actions that cause virtue in us.

Second, at we may understand (1104b3; [265]), he shows what is the sign of virtue already produced in us.

On the first point, he does three things.

First, he shows the necessity of the present investigation.

Second, at it must be presupposed (1103b34; [258]), he treats the method of investigation.

Third, he shows actions as causes of virtue.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he presents the necessity itself.

Second, at to be in accord with right reason (1103b31; [257]), he shows what we must suppose here.

Regarding the first, we must consider that, in the speculative sciences, where we seek only the knowledge of the truth, it is sufficient to know what is the cause of a determined effect. But in the practical sciences, whose end is action, we must know by what activities or operations a determined effect follows from a determined cause.

256. He says, then, that the present study, moral philosophy, is not pursued for the sake of the contemplation of truth, like the other studies of the speculative sciences, but for the sake of action. In this science, we seek a definition of virtue not only to know its truth, but to become good by acquiring virtue. The reason he assigns is that, if the investigation of this science were for the knowledge of truth alone, it would have little utility. It is not of great importance, nor does it contribute much to the perfection of the intellect, that a man should know the changeable truth about contingent actions with which virtue is concerned. This being the case, he concludes that we must thoroughly inquire about the actions we ought to perform because, as we have already observed [248–53], actions have influence and control over the formation of good and bad habits in us.

257. Then, at to be in accord with right (1103b31), he shows it should be taken for granted that actions causing virtue possess the common quality of being in accord with right reason. This happens because the good of everything consists in the fact that its operation is suited to its form. Now, the distinctive form of man is that which makes him a rational animal. Hence, man’s action must be good precisely because it harmonizes with right reason, for perversity of reason is repugnant to its nature. Later, in book 6 [1109], we shall ascertain what is right reason, which belongs to the intellectual virtues, and how it pertains to the other virtues, which are the moral.

258. Then, at it must be (1103b34), he explains the method of investigating matters of this kind. We must presume, he says, that any discussion concerned, like this, with actions to be performed ought to be given in a general way, that is, as a precedent or as likely, but not definitively. This was pointed out in the introduction to the whole work [24]. The reason is that the discussions are to be carried on according to the nature of the subject matter, as was noted in the same place [32]. We see that things pertaining to moral actions and materials useful to them, like external goods, do not have in themselves anything fixed by way of necessity, but rather everything is contingent and changeable. The same occurs in works relating to medicine, which are concerned with health, because the disposition of the body to be cured and the remedies used to effect a cure are changeable in many ways.

259. The teaching on matters of morals even in their general aspects is uncertain and variable. But still more uncertainty is found when we come down to the solution of particular cases. This study does not fall under either art or tradition, because the causes of individual actions are infinitely diversified. Hence, judgment of particular cases is left to the prudence of each one. He who acts prudently must attentively consider the things to be done at the present time after all the particular circumstances have been taken into consideration. In this way, a doctor must act in bringing about a cure and a captain in steering a ship. Although this doctrine is such as to be uncertain in its general aspects and incapable of precision in particular cases, we ought to study it so that, in these matters, we may be of some assistance to men in directing their actions.

260. Then, at we must, then, first (1104a11), he shows what are the operations that may cause virtue.

On this point he does two things.

First, he shows by what actions virtue is caused.

Second, at not only the production (1104a27; [264]), he shows that virtue already formed produces in turn like actions.

He says first we must consider before anything else that virtues or operations causing virtues are of such a nature as to be destroyed by excess and defect. To prove this, we must use certain more obvious signs and evidence, that is, the things happening in regard to the powers of the body that are more manifest than the capacities of the soul.

261. We see that bodily strength is impaired by immoderate games—that is, certain bodily exercises in which the contestants do battle naked—because the natural power of the body is weakened by excessive exertion. Likewise, the lack of exercise destroys bodily strength because, when not exercised, the members remain flabby and incapable of work. A similar comment may be made about health. If someone takes either too much food or drink or less than he needs, his health is impaired. But if a man uses exercise, food, and drink in moderation, he will become physically strong and his health will be improved and preserved.

262. It is the same with the virtues of the soul, such as fortitude, temperance, and the other virtues. A person who fears everything, takes to flight, and never faces anything terrifying becomes a coward. Likewise, he who fears nothing and wades into every danger thoughtlessly becomes rash. The same is true of temperance. He who tastes every pleasure and avoids none becomes intemperate. But he who avoids all pleasures as a boor does, without any reason, becomes as it were insensible.

263. However, we are not to conclude from this that virginity, which abstains from all venereal pleasure, is a vice. The reason is that virginity does not abstain from all pleasures, and that it abstains from particular pleasures according to right reason. Similarly, it is not a vice for some soldiers to refrain from all venereal pleasure in order to devote themselves more fully to fighting. Now these things have been said because temperance and fortitude are destroyed by excess and defect but are preserved by the golden mean, which is understood not according to quantity, but according to right reason.

264. Then, at not only (1104a27), he shows that virtue produces actions similar to the actions that caused it. He says that the same kinds of activity cause both the production and the increase of virtue, and also its destruction if they are taken in a contrary way. Likewise, the operations of the virtues already produced consist in these same works. This is obvious in bodily actions, which are more manifest. As bodily strength is caused from the fact that a man can take abundant nourishment and can work hard, and when he has become strong, he will be more able to do these things, so also it is with the virtues of the soul. From the fact that we give up pleasures, we become temperate; and when we have become temperate, we can very easily give up pleasures. It is the same with the virtue of fortitude. We become brave by accustoming ourselves to despise and endure terrors, and having become brave, we are very capable of enduring terrors. So also fire once kindled from generated heat can give off intense heat.

Signs of Virtue

We may understand pleasure or sorrow that follows activity as an indication of the habits that are present. Indeed, the man who avoids bodily pleasures is temperate if he is glad about it; intemperate, if sad about it. Likewise, the man who encounters dangers is brave if he rejoices or is not sad, but cowardly if he is saddened. Moral virtue, then, is concerned with pleasure and sorrows. [265]

We perform evil actions for the sake of pleasure and avoid good actions because of sadness. Therefore, as Plato says,¹ we need some sort of training from our earliest years so that we may rejoice and be sorrowful about the right things, for proper instruction consists in this. [268]

Besides, if virtues are concerned with activities and passions, and pleasure and sorrow follow every act and passion, then certainly virtue will deal with pleasures and sorrows. [269]

Penalties inflicted because of pleasure and sorrow also prove our point, for penalties are, as it were, remedies. Remedies by their very nature work through contraries. [270]

Furthermore, as we said previously, every habit of the soul has a natural disposition to do and to be busied with those things by which it is made better or worse. Men become wicked by pursuing the pleasures (and avoiding the [converse] sorrows) that are wrong, or by doing this at the wrong time or in the wrong manner or in some other way that one may deviate from reason. Consequently, some define virtues as certain quiescent and emotionless dispositions. But they err in speaking absolutely and in not qualifying the passions as to manner, time, and so forth. We must suppose, therefore, that virtue is such that it works what is best regarding pleasures and sorrows, and vice does the contrary. [271]

Our contention will become evident from the following consideration. Three things fall under our choice: the good, the useful, and the pleasurable. We avoid three contrary things: the evil, the harmful, and the sorrowful. In regard to all these, the virtuous man disposes himself rightly and the vicious man badly. This is especially true in the matter of pleasure, which is common to animals and is found in all things obtained by choice, for the good and the useful seem also to be pleasurable. [273]

Pleasure, too, has grown up with all of us from childhood. Therefore, it is difficult to curb this passion, which is acquired with life itself. [276]

Some regulate their activities to a greater degree and others to a lesser degree by pleasure and sorrow. About these, then, our whole study must be concerned, for it is not a thing of small importance in human actions to take pleasure or sorrow in the right or wrong way. [277]

As Heraclitus says, it is even more difficult to fight against pleasure than anger. Now, the more difficult is always treated by art and virtue, which operate well and more efficiently in the face of difficulty. Hence, the whole business of virtue and of political science is occupied with pleasures and sorrows. Assuredly, he who uses these well will be virtuous, and he who uses them badly will be evil. [278]

It has been said that virtue treats of pleasures and sorrows; virtue is produced and increased by the same actions that, when done in a different way, also destroy virtue, and the same actions that produce virtue are in turn produced by virtue. [279]

265. We may understand pleasure or sorrow. After the Philosopher has shown what kind of activity produces virtue, he now explains how we may recognize virtue already produced.

On this point he does two things.

First, he presents what he intends to do;

second, at we perform evil actions (1104b9; [268]), he proves his proposition.

Regarding the first, we must consider that, when virtue produces actions similar to the actions that formed it, as was just noted [264], the performance of this action differs before and after virtue. Before virtue, man does a kind of violence to himself in operating this way. Such actions, therefore, have some admixture of sorrow. But after the habit of virtue has been formed, these actions are done with pleasure. The explanation is that a habit exists as a sort of nature, and that is pleasurable, which agrees with a thing according to nature.

266. He says that an indication that habits, good or bad, have already been formed is given by the pleasure or sorrow that follows the operations. He illustrates this by examples. The man who is glad that he has avoided bodily pleasures is temperate because he performs an action in keeping with the habit. Likewise, he who encounters dangers with pleasure, or at least without sorrow, is brave. Particularly in the act of fortitude, it is enough not to have sorrow, as will be explained in book 3 [584–5]. One who faces dangers with sorrow is cowardly. He then assigns the reason for what he has said from the fact that every moral virtue is concerned with pleasures and sorrows.

267. From this, we must not conclude that every moral virtue is concerned with pleasures and sorrows as its proper matter. The matter indeed of every moral virtue is that on which reason imposes a norm. Thus, justice treats of dealing with others; fortitude treats of fears and aggressiveness; temperance treats of certain pleasures. But pleasure is the principal end of all the moral virtues, as will be said in book 7 [1504–15]. In every moral virtue, it is requisite that a person have joy and sorrow in the things he ought. In keeping with this, he says that moral virtue is concerned with pleasures and sorrows because the purpose of any moral virtue is that a man be rightly ordered in his pleasures and sorrows.

268. Then, at we perform evil actions (1104b9), he proves his proposition:

first, by reasons taken from things belonging to virtue;

second, at our contention will (1104b29; [273]), by reasons on the part of the virtuous man himself.

He presents four reasons pertaining to the first point. The first reason is taken from the inclination of men intent on virtue. It was shown previously [264–5] that virtue is produced and destroyed by deeds of the same person done in a contrary way. Indeed, we see that virtue is destroyed by pleasure and sadness; we perform evil actions out of a desire for pleasure, we avoid good or virtuous works because of the sadness we fear in honest labor. Hence, as Plato said, one who is intent on virtue should have some sort of moral training from his earliest years, that he may rejoice and be sorrowful about the right things. This is proper instruction for youths so that they become accustomed to take pleasure in good works and be grieved in evil works. Therefore, teachers of youth compliment those who do good deeds and reprove those who do evil.

269. At besides, if (1104b13; [269]), he presents the second reason based on the matter of the moral virtue in the following way. Every moral virtue deals with actions (as justice, which treats of buying, selling, and other things of this kind), or with passions (as meekness, which treats of anger), and so with the other virtues. But pleasure or sorrow follows every passion that is nothing else but the motion of the appetitive power in pursuit of good or in flight from evil. When the good to which the appetite tends is forthcoming, therefore, or when the evil that it flees is avoided, pleasure follows. But when the contrary happens, sorrow follows. Thus, the angered man rejoices in getting revenge and likewise the cowardly man in avoiding dangers. But when the opposite is true, these persons are sorrowful. It remains, therefore, that every moral virtue regards pleasures and sorrows as having the aspect of ends.

270. The third reason presented, at penalties inflicted (1104b16; [270]), is taken from the idea of a remedy for the soul. As a medicine used for the restoration of health is a kind of disagreeable potion from which the sweetness has been removed, so a penalty used for the restoration of virtue is a kind of medicine, for a penalty consists in taking away certain pleasures or applying certain disagreeable things. The reason for this is that a medicine is naturally to be used as a contrary thing. Thus, in the case of fever, doctors apply cooling remedies. Hence, moral virtue also is concerned with certain pleasures and sorrows.

271. At furthermore (1104b18; [271]), he presents the fourth reason, which is taken from what is contrary to and destructive of virtue. Every habit, he says, has a disposition to do and to be busied with the things by which it is made worse and better, that is, by which the goodness of a good habit or the evil of a bad habit is increased. This can be understood likewise of the things by which the habit naturally becomes worse or better, that is, by which it naturally is formed or increased (which is to be made better), or destroyed or diminished (which is to be made worse). We see that men become evil through the deterioration of virtue from the fact that they pursue the pleasures and steer clear of the sorrows that they ought not, or when they ought not, or in some other way by which one may deviate from right reason.

272. The Stoics took occasion of this to say that virtues are certain quiescent and passionless dispositions. The reason was that they saw men become evil through pleasures and sorrows, and consequently they thought that virtue consists in the total cessation of the changes of the passions. But in this they erred, wishing to exclude entirely the passions of the soul from a virtuous man. It belongs, of course, to the good of reason to regulate the sensitive appetite—and the passions are movements of this appetite. Hence, it is not the business of virtue to exclude all, but only the inordinate passions, that is, those which are not as they ought to be and are not at the time they ought to be (he adds also all the other things belonging to the remaining circumstances). From this, he then concludes that we must suppose that virtue should work what is best regarding pleasures and sorrows, but vice, which is the habit opposed to virtue, should work what is evil.

273. Then, at our contention will (1104b29), he introduces to his proposition four other reasons taken on the part of men in whom virtue, pleasure, and sorrow are found. The first reason is derived from pleasures in general. He says that three things fall under human choice: the good or virtuous, the helpful or useful, and the pleasurable. Contrary to these are also three things: evil or vice as opposed to the virtuous, the harmful as opposed to the useful, and the sorrowful as opposed to the pleasurable. In regard to all these, the virtuous man disposes himself rightly but the vicious man badly, especially in the matter of pleasure, which is more common among the things mentioned, since it belongs to two of them.

274. First, in regard to the things partaking of pleasure. Pleasure is found in all animals, since it is not only in the intellectual power, but also in the sensitive power. The useful and the virtuous, however, pertain to the intellectual power alone. This is so because the virtuous act is performed in accord with reason while the useful implies an order of one to another, and to order is proper to reason.

275. Another common feature is on the part of the things themselves in which pleasure is gained. Pleasure, in fact, follows everything that falls under choice. Now, the virtuous is pleasurable to man because it is agreeable to reason, and the useful also gives pleasure by reason of the expected benefit. But, on the other hand, not every pleasurable action is useful or virtuous, as is obvious in the pleasures of sense.

276. At pleasure, too (1105a1), he presents the second reason, which is taken from an inherent characteristic of pleasure. Pleasure has grown up with us all alike from childhood, since a newborn child delights in his milk. Therefore, it is difficult for man to curb this passion acquired with life because it starts in man at the beginning of life. Hence, moral virtue is especially concerned with pleasure.

277. He assigns the third reason at some regulate (1105a3). This reason is derived from man’s inclination. All men regulate their activities by pleasure and sorrow. They are intent on activities they find pleasant, and they avoid activities they find distressing. Hence, the whole business of a moral virtue, which is ordered to good activity, must concern pleasure and sorrow. It is quite important to note what activities one finds pleasant or painful, whether rightly or wrongly so. The reason is that he who rejoices in good performs good actions, but he who rejoices in evil performs evil actions.

278. He assigns the fourth reason at as Heraclitus says (1105a7). This is taken from a comparison with anger. It is more difficult, as Heraclitus said, to fight against pleasure than against anger, even though it seems most difficult to fight against anger because of its vehemence. But the desire of pleasure is both more common and more natural, and besides, it lasts longer. Art and virtue, however, always treat of the more difficult, for anyone can operate well in the easier things. But it takes one skilled in virtue and art to operate well in difficult things. Thus, it is obvious, from what has been said, that the whole business of virtue and of political science or of public affairs is concerned with pleasures and sorrows. If a man uses these well, he will be virtuous, but if he uses them badly, he will be evil.

279. Then, at it has been said that (1105a13), he sums up in conclusion the points that have been made: virtue is concerned with pleasures and sorrows; virtue is produced and increased by the same actions that, when done in the opposite way, destroy virtue; the same actions producing virtue are in turn produced by virtue once formed.

Comparison Between Virtue and Art

Someone may rightly ask how we can say that man must become just by doing just actions, and temperate by doing temperate actions. If people perform just and temperate works, they are already just and temperate, as those who produce grammatical or musical works are already grammarians or musicians. [280]

But this is not true in the arts. A man may at times produce something grammatical by chance or with the help of another. He will therefore be a grammarian only if he produces a grammatical work in a grammatical way, that is, in accordance with the science of grammar that he possesses. [281]

Another dissimilarity between the arts and virtues is that works of art have their perfection in themselves. It is enough, then, that these be made with certain qualities. Yet works of virtue are not justly and temperately performed if they merely have certain qualities; the agent performing them must fulfill the following conditions. First, he must know what he is doing. Then, he must choose the virtuous works for their own sakes. Third, he must possess the disposition and operate according to it resolutely and with stability. Except for knowledge, these conditions are not required in the other arts. Mere knowledge, however, has little or no importance for the virtues, but what occurs from the frequent performance of just and temperate actions is all-important. [284]

Works, then, are called just and temperate when they are such as a just and temperate man will do. Now, a just and temperate man is not simply one who performs these actions, but one who performs them as the just and temperate perform them. [285]

It has been well said, therefore, that a man becomes just by doing just actions and temperate by doing temperate actions. Anyone who does not perform these actions has not the slightest interest in becoming virtuous. [287]

Many, however, fail to do good actions, but taking refuge in theory, think that by philosophizing they will become virtuous. They act like the sick who listen carefully to the doctor but do nothing he prescribes. Hence, just as those who take care of themselves in this way will never have a healthy body, so those who merely philosophize will not have a healthy soul. [288]

280. Someone may rightly ask. After the Philosopher has shown that virtues are caused by actions, he now raises a doubt about this assertion.

Regarding it, he does three things.

First, he presents a problem.

Second, at but this is not true (1105a21; [281]), he solves it.

Third, from the discussion of the question he comes to the conclusion principally intended, at it has been well said, therefore (1105b9; [287]).

The doubt that he first raises is this. What is true of virtue is true of art. But in art, it is true that no one produces a work of art except one who possesses the art, as no one produces anything grammatical unless he is a grammarian, nor anything musical unless he be a musician. It will be true in virtue, therefore, that whoever performs just works is already just and whoever performs temperate works is already temperate. Hence, our previous contention [164] does not seem to be true, that men become just by doing just actions and temperate by doing temperate actions.

281. Then, at but this is not (1105a21), he solves this doubt:

first, by rejecting what was assumed about art;

second, by disproving the likeness said to exist between virtue and art, at another dissimilarity (1105a26; [284]).

He says first that it is not true in art, as was assumed, that whoever produces a grammatical work is already a grammarian. It happens sometimes that an ignoramus pronounces a word correctly by chance. Sometimes this happens with the help of another whose example is followed—for instance, a mimic imitates the correct pronunciation given by a grammarian. But a man is to be judged a grammarian only when he produces a grammatical work and in a grammatical way, that is, in accord with the science of grammar that he possesses.

282. Then, at another dissimilarity (1105a26), he gives the second solution, in two steps.

First, he eliminates the likeness between art and virtue.

Second, he concludes the solution at works, then, are called just (1105b7; [285]).

He says first that there is no similarity between art and virtue, since works of art have in themselves what belongs to the perfection of the art. The explanation is that art is the right plan of making things, as will be said in book 6 [1153, 1160, 1166]. Making is an operation that passes to external matter, and an operation of this kind is a perfection of the thing made. Hence, in such actions, the good consists in the object made. It is enough for the good of art, therefore, that the things made be good. But virtues are principles of actions that do not go out into external matter, but remain in the agents. Hence, actions of this kind are perfections of the agents. So, the good of these actions is identical with the agents themselves.

283. He says, therefore, in order that actions be justly and temperately performed, it is not enough that the things done be good, but the agent must work in a proper manner.

Regarding this manner, he says we must pay attention to three things.

The first, pertaining to the intellect or reason, is that one who performs a virtuous action should not act in ignorance or by chance, but should know what he is doing.

The second is taken on the part of the appetitive power. Here two things are noted. One is that the action be not done out of passion, as happens when a person performs a virtuous deed because of fear; the other is that the action should be done by a choice that is not made for the sake of something else, as happens when a person performs a good action for money or vainglory. The actions should be done for the sake of the virtuous work itself that, as something agreeable, is inherently pleasing to him who has the habit of virtue.

The third, taken from the nature of a habit, is that a person should possess a virtuous choice and operate according to it resolutely—that is, consistently on his part—and with stability so as not to be moved by any external thing.

284. Only the first of these, knowledge, is required in the arts. A man can be a good artist even if he never chooses to work according to art and does not persevere in his work. But knowledge has little or no importance in a person being virtuous, but his goodness consists entirely in other things that take place within him by frequent actions, and thus he becomes stable.

285. Then, at works, then (1105b7), he concludes the solution of the above-mentioned doubt. He states that things done are called just and temperate because they are similar to the things that a just and temperate man does. Whoever performs these actions need not necessarily be just and temperate, but he who performs them as just and temperate men perform them according to the three conditions just laid down is said to be just and temperate. Men, therefore, first perform just and temperate actions—not in the same way as the just and temperate do—and such actions in their turn produce the habit.

286. If it should be asked how this is possible, since nothing can move itself from potency to act, we must answer that the perfection of moral virtue, which we are treating, consists in reason’s control of the appetite. Now, the first principles of reason, no less in moral than in speculative matters, have been given by nature. Therefore, just as by means of previously known principles a man makes himself actually understand by personal effort of discovery, so also, by acting according to the principles of practical reason, a man makes himself actually virtuous.

287. Then, at it has been well said, therefore (1105b9), he comes to the conclusion principally intended.

First, he brings his proposition to an end;

and second, at many, however, fail (1105b12; [288]), he discredits a false opinion of certain persons.

He concludes that it has been well said above [264, 280] that a man becomes just by doing just actions and temperate by doing temperate actions. But he who does not perform actions or develop his disposition will never become virtuous.

288. Then, at many, however, fail (1105b12), he discredits the false opinion of certain persons who do not perform works of virtues but, by taking refuge in the discussion of virtues, think they can become virtuous by philosophizing. Such people, he says, are like the sick who carefully listen to what the doctor has to say but do nothing about carrying out his prescriptions. Thus, philosophy is to the cure of the soul what medicine is to the cure of the body. Hence, as those who listen to the advice of doctors and disregard it will never have a well-regulated body, so those who listen to the warnings of moral philosophers and do not heed them will never have a well-regulated soul.

The Definition of Virtue

Now we must determine the definition of virtue. Since there are three principles occurring in the soul—passions, powers, and habits—virtue will be one of these. [289]

By “passions,” I mean: concupiscence, anger, aggressiveness, envy, joy, love, hatred, desire, jealousy, pity, and all the movements followed by pleasure and sorrow. [291]

I call those principles “powers” in respect of which we are said to be capable of experiencing passions, for example, of becoming angry or being sad or having pity. [297]

I call those principles “habits” in respect of which we are well or badly disposed toward the passions. Thus, we are badly disposed in becoming angry in a violent or feeble way, but we are well disposed in doing so with moderation. The same applies to all habits and passions. [298]

Neither virtues nor vices, therefore, are passions, because we are not called good or evil by reason of the passions but by reason of virtue or vice. [299]

We are neither praised nor reproached for the passions. Now, a man is not praised or blamed for being afraid or angry simply, but in a particular way. We are, though, praised or blamed for virtues or vices. [300]

We become angry and are afraid without willing it, but the virtues are certain choices—or at least not without choice. [301]

We are said to be moved by the passions. However, we are not moved, but disposed in a certain way by the virtues and vices. [302]

For this reason also, the virtues are not powers, for we are not called good or evil simply because we are capable of being affected by the passions, nor are we praised or blamed. [303]

Furthermore, the powers are in us by nature, but we are not good or evil by nature, as we said above. [304]

If, then, virtues are neither passions nor powers, it remains that they are habits. We say, therefore, that habit is the genus of virtue. [305]

289. After the Philosopher has treated the cause of virtue, he now begins to investigate the definition of virtue.

He divides the investigation into two parts.

In the first, he shows what virtue is;

in the second, he ascertains the opposition of virtue to vice at there are three (1108b11; [358]).

The first part is treated under two headings.

In the first, he determines what virtue is in general.

In the second, he applies the adopted definition to particular virtues, at we must speak of virtue not only under its universal aspect (1107a28; [333]).

This first section is also twofold.

In the first of these, he investigates the definition of virtue.

In the second, he concludes the definition, at virtue, then, is a habit (1106b36–1107a2; [322–24]).

On the first point, he does two things.

First he investigates the genus of virtue;

second, its specific difference, at we must consider not only (1106a14; [306]).

He investigates the genus by parts. Hence, regarding the first he does three things.

First, he offers the division.

Second, at by “passions,” I mean (1105b21; [291]), he explains its parts.

Third, at neither virtues nor vices (1105b28; [299]), he argues from the accepted definition.

290. He says first that, to establish the definition of virtue, we have to take for granted three principles in the soul: passions, powers, and habits. Virtue must come under one of these, for he just said [282] that virtue is a principle of certain operations of the soul. Now no principle of operation is found in the soul outside these three. Sometimes a man seems to act from a passion, such as anger; sometimes from habit, as when he works by art; sometimes from mere potentiality, as when he begins a new activity. It is obvious that not absolutely everything in the soul is included under this division—the essence of the soul and the operation of the intellect do not belong here—but only the things that are principles of some operation are considered.

291. Then, at by “passions,” I mean (1105b21), he indicates the members of the division just mentioned.

First, he makes known those that are passions;

second, those that are powers, at I call those principles “powers” (1105b23; [297]);

third, those that are habits, at I call those principles “habits” (1105b25; [298]).

Regarding the first, we must consider that passions are not attributed to the vegetative soul, because the powers of this part of the soul are not passive, as they are in both the sensitive part and the intellective part, but active. The perceptive and appetitive powers, except the active intellect, are passive. Although feeling and understanding are in a way passions (that is, they suffer change), passions are properly denominated not because of the apprehension of sense or intellect, but only because of the appetite. The reason is that the operation of the perceptive power takes place according as the thing perceived is in the knower according to the state of the knower. Now the object perceived is, so to speak, drawn to the knower. But the operation of the appetitive power takes place according as the one desiring is inclined to the thing desired. Because it is characteristic of the recipient, or patient, that he be drawn by the agent, and not the converse, it follows that only the operations of the appetitive powers are called passions, not the operations of the perceptive powers.

292. Even among the appetitive powers, the operation of the intellective appetite is not properly called “passion.” It does not take place with a change of a bodily organ, which is necessary to the nature of a passion properly speaking. Also, in the operation of the intellective appetite, which is the will, man is not the passive recipient, but rather he directs himself as the master of his action. It remains, therefore, that operations of the sensitive appetite, which are accompanied by a change of a bodily organ and which in a way draw man, should be called passions in a strict sense.

293. The sensitive appetite is divided into two powers: the concupiscible, which concerns sensible good absolutely (namely, what is pleasurable to sense) and evil contrary to it, and the irascible, which concerns good under the aspect of a certain eminence. For example, victory is said to be a kind of good, although it is not accompanied by pleasure of sense.

Whatever passions concern good or evil absolutely, therefore, are found in the concupiscible appetite. Certain of these—three in number—regard the good: love, which implies a certain connaturality of the appetite with the good loved; desire, which implies a movement of the appetite toward the good loved; and delight, which implies a repose of the appetite in the good loved. Opposed to these in respect to evil are: hatred, opposed to love; aversion or flight, opposed to desire; sadness, opposed to delight. But those passions that concern good or evil under the aspect of difficulty belong to the irascible, such as fear and boldness in regard to evil and hope and despair in regard to good. A fifth is anger, which is a composite passion and so has no opposite.

294. In enumerating the passions, therefore, he says they are: concupiscence (which we call desire), anger, fear, boldness, envy (which is contained under sadness), and joy (which is contained under pleasure, for this is a non-corporeal pleasure that consists in an interior perception of the good, and likewise a love, hatred, and desire of the same interior kind). Desire differs from concupiscence in that concupiscence pertains to bodily pleasure while desire concerns every pleasure without distinction.

295. He adds jealousy and pity, which are species of sadness. Pity is sadness at another’s misfortune, and jealousy is sadness because one lacks what others have.

296. He also adds that pleasure and sorrow universally follow the above-mentioned passions, because all others imply certain movements to good and evil, and these movements are accompanied by pleasure or sorrow. Hence, all other passions are terminated at pleasure and sorrow.

297. Then, at I call those principles “powers” (1105b23), he identifies the powers not in general, but as pertaining to moral study according as they differ from the passions. He affirms that powers are said to exist according as we are considered capable of experiencing these passions; that is, the powers are said to suffer or to receive these passions. Thus, the irascible power exists according as we are capable of becoming angry and the concupiscible power according as we are capable of becoming sad or showing pity.

298. Then, at I call those principles “habits” (1105b25), he identifies the habits. Likewise, this is not done in general, but in regard to those pertaining to moral study by comparison with the passions. Habits, he states, are said to exist according as we consistently use the passions well or badly. Now, a habit is a disposition determining a power in reference to something. When the determination is made conformable to the nature of the thing, there will be a good habit that disposes that a thing be done well; otherwise, there will be a bad habit according to which a thing will be done badly. He illustrates what we do according to habit through how we may be angry either wrongly—when this is done in a violent or weak manner, that is, according to excess or defect—or well if done with moderation.

299. Then, at neither virtues nor vices (1105b28), he argues from the division previously given.

First, he shows that virtues are not passions.

Second, at for this reason also (1106a6; [303]), he shows that they are not powers.

Third, at if, then, virtues (1106a10; [305]), he concludes they are habits.

For the first statement, he assigns four reasons.

The first is this. We are called good according to virtues and evil according to the opposite vices. But we are not called good or evil according to passions taken absolutely. Passions, therefore, are neither virtues nor vices.

300. He presents the second reason at we are neither (1105b31). It is taken from praise and reproach, which are kinds of attestation of goodness and evil. He says that we are praised for virtues and reproached for the opposite vices. But we are neither praised nor reproached for the passions taken absolutely. A man is not praised or blamed because he is simply afraid or angry, but only because he is afraid or angry in a particular way, that is, according to reason or contrary to reason. The same must be understood of the other passions of the soul. The passions of the soul, therefore, are neither virtues nor vices.

301. At we become angry (1106a2; [301]). he presents the third reason, which is taken from a virtuous manner of acting. Virtues are either choices or not without choice, for the very act of virtue can be called virtue. If we consider the principal acts of virtues, which are interior, virtue is choice; but if we consider the exterior acts, virtue is not without choice, because the exterior acts of virtue proceed from interior choice. If virtue be taken as the very habit of virtue, even in this sense, it does not lack choice, as a cause is not without its proper effect. The passions, however, come to us without choice because they precede the deliberations of the reason necessary for choice. This is what he means saying that we are angry and are afraid without willing it, that is, not by choice of the reason. The passions, therefore, are not virtues.

302. He presents the fourth reason at we are said (1106a4). This is taken from the very nature of virtue. The passions are movements according to which we are said to be moved. The virtues and vices are qualities according to which we are said not to be moved, but to be disposed in some way, whether well or badly, that our movement may ensue. The passions, therefore, are neither virtues nor vices.

303. Then, at for this reason (1106a6), he shows that virtues are not powers for two reasons.

The first of these is taken from the nature of good and evil, as has just been proved [299–300] about the passions. The reason is this. No one is called good or evil or praised or reproached because he is capable of being affected by some passion—for instance, that he is capable of becoming angry or being afraid. But we are called good or evil and are praised or reproached because of virtues and vices. Virtues and vices, therefore, are not powers.

304. He gives the second reason at furthermore, the powers (1106a9). It is taken on the part of the cause and is this. Powers are in us by nature, because they are natural characteristics of the soul. But virtues and vices by which we are called good or evil are not in us by nature, as was proved above [248–51]. Virtues and vices, therefore, are not powers.

305. Then, at if, then, virtues (1106a10), he concludes his proposition. If virtues are neither passions nor powers, it remains that they are habits according to the previously given division. Thus, he concludes that virtue with regard to its generic definition obviously is a habit.

Virtue Is a Kind of Habit

We must consider not only that virtue is a habit, but also what kind of habit. [306]

We must explain, therefore, that virtue perfects everything of which it is the virtue, rendering both the possessor good and his work good. Thus, the virtue or power of the eye makes good both the eye and its operation, for it is by the power of the eye that we see well. Likewise, the virtue or excellence of a horse makes the horse good and also makes him good for running, riding, and awaiting the enemy. If this be true in all other things, then human virtue will be a habit making man good and rendering his work good. [307]

How this takes place has already been described. [309]

But it will become still clearer if we study the nature of virtue. In all continuous and divisible matter, we can take the more, the less, and the equal amount. These are understood either in regard to the thing or in regard to us. But the equal is a mean between excess and defect. [310]

By “the mean on the part of the thing,” I understand that which is equally distant from both extremes and is one and the same for everybody. By “the mean in regard to us,” I understand that which is neither in excess nor in defect. This, however, is not one and the same for everybody. [311]

For example, if ten be taken as many and two as few, then six will be the mean on the part of the thing, because six both exceeds and is exceeded by an equal amount. This mean is according to arithmetic proportion. [312]

But the mean in regard to us is not to be taken in this way. A trainer will not order six pounds of food for someone simply because eating ten pounds is a great deal and eating two pounds is a small amount. This may be much or little for the person eating. For Milo, it would certainly be little, but it would be much for a champion in gymnastics; and the same holds true in running and wrestling. Thus, everyone who is wise avoids excess and wants to find the mean not on the part of the thing, but in regard to us. [313]

Every practical science, then, perfects its work by keeping in view the mean and executing the work according to the mean. Hence, it is customary to tell a man who has done a good piece of work that nothing is to be added or taken away, meaning that excess and defect disfigure a work but the mean preserves it. As we have said, good workmen work with an eye on the mean. But virtue, like nature, is more certain and better than art. Virtue, then, will aim at the mean. [315]

I am speaking of moral virtue, for it treats of passions and operations in which we find excess, defect, and the mean. Thus, aggressiveness, fear, concupiscence, aversion, anger, pity, and pleasure and sorrow in general take place with excess and defect. Both of these are evil; but to experience these passions at the right time, for the right objects, toward the right persons, with the right motive, and in the right way is the mean and the highest good of virtue. Similarly, excess, defect, and the mean are to be found in actions. Now moral virtue is concerned with passions and operations in which excess is vicious, defect is reproachable, and the mean receives praise and shows the right path. These two (praise and righteousness) pertain to virtue. Moral virtue, therefore, is a kind of middle course and aims at the mean. [317]

306. We must consider not only that virtue is a habit. After the Philosopher has explained the genus of virtue, he now begins an inquiry into the specific difference of virtue.

First, he presents his proposition. He says that, in order to know what virtue is, we must consider not only that it is a habit—thus the genus is understood—but what kind of habit, for thus the specific difference is indicated.

307. Second, at we must explain, therefore (1106a15), he makes known the proposition. On this point he does two things.

First, he manifests a certain common quality of virtue.

Second, from this quality of virtue, he explains its specific difference, at how this takes place (1106a24; [309]).

He says first that every virtue makes its possessor good and his work good. Thus, the virtue or power of the eye makes the eye good and gives us good sight, which is the proper function of the eye. Likewise, the virtue or excellence of a horse makes a horse good and makes it operate well—that is, run fast, ride easily, and fearlessly await the enemy.

308. The reason is that the virtue or power of a thing is judged by the best it can do. For example, the power of one who can carry a hundred pounds is determined by his actual carrying of this weight, as is said in De caelo,¹ and not by the fact that he carries fifty pounds. Now the utmost or best to which the power of anything extends is called its excellent operation. It belongs to the virtue of every thing, therefore, to render an excellent operation. Because a perfect operation proceeds only from a perfect agent, it follows that everything is both good and operates well according to its own virtue. If this be true in all other things—and such was already apparent from our examples—human virtue must be a kind of habit, as was mentioned above [305]. From this habit, man becomes good formally speaking (as one becomes white by whiteness) and operates well.

309. Then, at how this takes place (1106a24), he investigates the specific difference of virtue according to the quality of virtue previously indicated. He does this under three headings:

first, according to the property of the operations;

second, according to the nature of virtue, at but it will become still clearer (1106a24; [310]);

third, according to the special character of good or evil, at moreover, there are many (1106b28; [319]).

He says first that the way in which a man may become good and do good has been treated already [257]. It was noted also [260–4] that we are made good in every virtue by operations according to the mean. Then, having become good, we perform good actions. It remains, therefore, that, if virtue makes a man good and his work good, it will consist in the mean.

310. Then, at but it will become (1106a24), he proves the same by the nature of virtue. Regarding this, he does three things.

First, he introduces certain preliminaries necessary to explain his proposition.

Second, he concludes his proposition at every practical science, then (1106b8; [315]).

Third, he explains an inference at I am speaking of moral virtue (1106b16; [317).

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he proposes the things necessary to elucidate the proposition.

Second, he clarifies what he has said, at by "the mean on the part" (1106a29; [311]).

He says first that the manner in which we become good and perform good acts will be clearer still if we consider the nature of virtue. For an understanding of this, we must take for granted beforehand that virtue treats three things: the more, the less, and the equal. Virtue treats these both in continuous, contingent matters and even in any other divisible matter, whether it be numerically divided, as all discrete things, or divided incidentally—for example, by intensity and indistinctness of a quality in a subject. These three are so arranged that the equal holds a middle place between the more, which pertains to excess, and the less, which pertains to defect. This can be understood in two ways: one according to absolute quantity in something; the other in relation to us.

311. Then, at by "the mean on the part of the thing"(1106a29), he clarifies what he said about the difference on the part of the thing (objective) and in regard to us (relative):

first, by means of reason;

second, by way of example at for example, if (1106a33; [312]).

He says first that the objective mean is the point equidistant from both extremes. It is the same for all because it is understood according to the absolute quantity of the thing. But the mean is relative in regard to us inasmuch as it neither exceeds nor falls short of a proportion suitable to us. Hence, this mean is not the same for all. If we apply the relative mean to a shoe, it will not be more than the length of the foot, nor less. It will not be the same for all, because not all have the same size foot.

312. Then, at for example, if (1106a33), he clarifies what he has said by way of example.

First, he does it regarding the objective mean which is equally distant from the extremes. Thus, six is the mean between ten (which is the more) and two (which is the less) because six is less than ten and more than two by the same amount, four. The mean that is taken in numbers from the equal distance between two extremes is said to be according to arithmetic proportion, which considers numerical quantity. But the mean that is taken from the equality of proportion in regard to us is said to be according to the geometric proportion, as will be made clear afterwards in book 5 [944, 949, 950, 972].

313. Second, at but the mean in regard to us (1106a36), he gives examples of the mean. He says that the mean that is understood in comparison with us is not to be taken according to equal distance between extremes. This is sufficiently clear in the previous example of the shoe. If a shoe of twenty fingers’ breadth is long and a shoe of four fingers’ breadth is short it does not necessarily follow that one of twelve fingers’ breadth will be the right fit. Perhaps it will be large compared to the foot of one person and small compared to the foot of another. He also exemplifies this mean in food. If eating ten pounds, or ten portions, is much and eating two pounds is little, a trainer—whose duty it is to make out someone’s diet—should not for this reason prescribe six pounds, since even this is much for one person and little for another.

314. This would indeed be little for a man called Milo, who, according to Solinus, ate a whole cow in a day. But it would be much for a champion in gymnastics, who has to excel in sports—in which men used to contend naked—and must eat lightly to be in better condition. The same is true of those who run at the stadium and of those who take up wrestling—a sport engaged in by the Greeks for exercise. So it is also in every operative science. The wise man avoids excess and defect, and wants to find the mean not objectively, but relative to us.

315. Then, at every practical science (1106b8; [315]), he argues from the premises in this way. Every operative science perfects its work in this: in planning it aims for the mean, and in execution it carries out its work in accord with the mean. Indications of this can be had from the fact that men are in the habit of saying, when a work is well done, that nothing is to be added or taken away. Thus, they give us to understand that excess and defect spoil a work that is preserved by the mean. Hence, good workmen, as has been pointed out [313–14], work with an eye on the mean. But virtue, like nature, is more certain and even better than any art. Moral virtue operates by inclining in a determined way to one thing, as nature does. Indeed, custom becomes nature. But art, which operates according to reason, is indifferent to various objects. Hence, like nature, it is more certain than art.

316. Likewise, virtue is better than art because, by art, a man is capable of doing a good work, but art does not cause him to do the good work. He can do a bad work, because art does not incline to the good use of art; a grammarian, for example, can speak incorrectly. But, by virtue, a man not only is capable of operating, but actually performs the action, because virtue (like nature) inclines to a good operation. Art alone gives only the knowledge of the operation. Consequently, even for this secondary reason, virtue, which is better than art, aims at the mean.

317. Then, at I am speaking (1106b16), he explains a further conclusion. He affirms that what has been said [256–63] ought to be understood of moral virtue that concerns passions and operations to which belong excess, defect and mean.

He gives an example first from the passions, saying that fear, aggressiveness, concupiscence, aversion (which is a fleeing from something), anger, pity, and any pleasure and sorrow may happen in greater and lesser degree than they ought. Both the excess and the defect are evil. But, if a man should fear and dare (and thus with the other passions) what he ought, in the things he ought, in regard to the persons he ought, for the motive he ought, and in the way he ought, this will be a mean for the passions. It will be also the highest good of virtue.

Similarly, excess, defect, and mean are found in actions. Moral virtue treats of passions and actions as its proper matter, such that, in them, excess is vicious and defect worthy of reproach but the mean receives praise and shows the right path. These two pertain to virtue: righteousness (which is opposed to vicious perverseness) and praise (which is opposed to reproach). This and vicious perverseness follow from the first two (excess and defect).

318. Thus, he concludes that moral virtue considered in itself is a kind of middle course and is an indicator of the mean inasmuch as it aims at the mean and accomplishes it.

Conclusion of the Definition

Moreover, there are many ways of sinning (for, in the opinion of the Pythagoreans, evil partakes of the unlimited, and good partakes of the limited). However, there is only one way of doing what is right. It is easy to sin, therefore, but difficult to do what is right. It is easy indeed to miss a bull’s eye but difficult to hit it. For this reason, then, defect and excess pertain to vice but the mean to virtue. Men are good in but one way but evil in many ways. [319]

Virtue, then, is a habit that chooses the mean in regard to us, as that mean is determined by reason and understood by a wise man. [322]

Virtue is a mean between two vices: of that which is according to excess and of that which is according to defect. [324]

In regard to this mean, some vices fall short but others exceed what is right both in the passions and in actions. Virtue, however, discovers and chooses the mean. [325]

For this reason, according to its essence and definition, virtue is a mean. But it is also an extreme as having the nature of what is best and right. [326]

Not every action or passion of the soul admits a mean. [328]

Certain ones imply vice by their very name: passions such as ill-will, shamelessness, and envy and actions such as adultery, theft, and murder. All these and their ilk are said to be evil in themselves and not only in their excess or defect. Neither do we have the option of acting well or badly in an action like adultery, as though it could be considered proper in itself, or done in a fitting manner, or at a right time, or in due circumstances, but to do any of them is sinful without any qualification. [329]

To seek a mean in these matters would be like assigning a mean to excess and defect in unjust, cowardly, or lustful actions. Thus, there would be a mean of an excess and of a defect, and an excess of an excess and a defect of a defect. [330]

An excess and defect are not found in temperance and fortitude because a mean is in no way an extreme, so excess or defect cannot be the mean of vice, but what is done is vicious. As a consequence, there cannot be a mean in any excess or defect, nor can there be excess or defect in any mean. [331]

319. Moreover, there are many ways of sinning. After giving the two previous reasons, the Philosopher now adds a third based upon the nature of good and evil. Accepting the Pythagorean view, he says that there are many ways of sinning because evil, which is included in the nature of sin, partakes of the unlimited, but good partakes of the limited. We must understand then, on the contrary, that there is only one way of doing what is right.

320. The reason for this can be found in the statement of Dionysius in the book On the Divine Names, that good results from a united and complete cause but evil from any single defect, as is evident in physical goodness and badness. Ugliness, which is a defect of physical beauty, results from any member being unsightly. But beauty arises only when all the members are well proportioned and of a healthy hue. Likewise sickness, a defect in the constitution of the body, happens from a single disorder of any humor. But health is dependent on the proper proportion of all the humors. Likewise, sin is committed in human action from any circumstance being inordinate in any way either by excess or defect. But goodness will be present only when all the circumstances are rightly ordered. As health or beauty comes about in a single way, but sickness and ugliness in many or even in an unlimited number of ways, so also moral goodness happens in only one way but the act of sin takes place in countless ways. Hence, it is easy to sin because sin can happen in a variety of modes, but it is difficult to do what is right because rectitude happens only in one way.

321. He gives as an example that it is easy to miss the bull’s eye, that is, the center of the target, because a miss can happen in numerous ways. But to hit the center spot is difficult because a hit happens in only one way. Now, it is obvious that excess and defect take place in various ways, but the mean in a single way. Hence, excess and defect manifestly pertain to vice but the mean to virtue, because men are good simply, that is, in one way, but evil at sundry times, that is, in many ways, as has just been stated [320].

322. Then, at virtue, then, is (1106b36), he infers the definition of virtue from the premises.

First, he presents the definition;

second, he explains it, at virtue is a mean between two (1107a2; [324]);

third, he rejects an error, at not every action (1107a8; [328]).

In the definition of virtue, he treats four points.

The first of these is the genus, which he touches on when he says that virtue is a habit [305].

The second is the act of the moral virtue, for the habit must be defined by the act. This he mentions by the word chooses, that is, acts according to choice, for the principal act of virtue is choice—he will discuss this later [432].

Third, since the act must be determined by the object, he refers to the object or the term of the action at the mean in regard to us. It was shown above [314] that virtue seeks out and uses the mean not of the thing, but in regard to us. Similarly, it has been said [257] that moral virtue is in the appetite, which participates in reason.

He had to add, therefore, a fourth notion, which refers to the cause of goodness in virtue, by the words determined by reason. It is good to seek the mean only insofar as it is determined by reason, but because reason can be right or erring, we must perform virtue according to right reason, as was ascertained previously [257].

323. To explain this, he adds as understood by a wise man. Wise here does not refer to one who is wise simply, knowing the ultimate causes of the whole universe, but rather to one who is prudent, that is, wise in human affairs, but this he will discuss in book 6 [1163]. Certainly the making of what is good in the art of building is determined by the judgment of one wise in that art, and the same is true in all the other arts.

324. Then, at virtue is a mean (1107a2), he explains the previously given definition in regard to his saying that virtue consists in the mean. On this point, he does three things.

First, he shows between what things there is a mean;

second, in reference to what thing this mean may be considered, at in regard to this (1107a3; [325]);

third, he deduces a corollary at for this reason (1107a6; [326]).

He says first that virtue itself is a kind of middle course between two vices and between two vicious habits: one by way of excess and the other by way of defect. Thus, liberality is the middle course between extravagance tending toward excess and miserliness tending toward avarice.

325. Then, at in regard to this (1107a3), he shows in reference to what norm we are to judge excess, defect, and mean. He says we must further consider that some vices fall short of what is right but others exceed it, both in the passions and in actions. In regard to this, some are deficient and others are in excess. But virtue, precisely as it observes what it ought, is said to discover the mean by reason and to choose it by the will. Thus, it is evident that virtue itself is a middle course but also, on the other hand, employs the mean. It is indeed the middle course between two habits, but it uses the mean in actions and passions.

326. Then, at for this reason (1107a6), he draws a further conclusion from his remarks: virtue in its essence and definition is a mean. But, precisely as it possesses the character of the best and as it acts or guides well in a determined genus, it is an extreme. For an understanding of this, we must consider, as has been pointed out [322], that the entire goodness of moral virtue depends on the rectitude of the reason. Hence, good is in harmony with moral virtue according as it follows right reason, but evil has a reference to each vice—namely, excess and defect, inasmuch as both depart from right reason. Therefore, according to the nature of goodness and evil, both vices are in one extreme, that is, in evil, which is thus shown to be a deviation from reason. Virtue, however, is in the other extreme, that is, in good which is characterized as a following of reason.

327. By reason of this, virtue and the contrary vices do not follow the species indicated by the definition, because right reason is the motive and the extrinsic norm for the right appetite. But an evil appetite does not intend by vice to deviate from right reason—this is contrary to its intention—for it directly intends that object in which excess or defect is present. What is contrary to its intention is incidental. Now, the incidental and the extrinsic do not constitute a species, but the species of a habit is taken from the object to which the habit tends. But, according to objects, the mean belongs to virtue and the extremes to vices. He says, therefore, that, according to the nature of good, virtue lies in the extreme, but according to the essential species, in the mean.

328. Then, at not every action (1107a8), he rejects an erroneous view. Because virtue can occupy the middle course and vice the extremes in actions and in passions, someone might think that this would happen in all actions and passions. But he rejects this by saying that not every action or passion of the soul admits a mean in the context of virtue.

329. He explains this first from reason, at certain ones (1107a9). Certain actions and passions imply vice by their very name: passions such as ill-will, shamelessness, and envy and actions such as adultery, theft, and murder. All of these and their like are evil in themselves and not only in their excess or defect. Hence, in such things, a person cannot be virtuous no matter how he acts, but he always sins in doing them. In explaining this, he adds that right or wrong in actions like adultery does not arise from the fact that a person does the act as he ought or when he ought, so that then the act becomes good, but on the other hand evil when not done as it ought. Without qualification, sin is present whenever any of these is present, for each of them implies an act opposed to what is right.

330. Second, he gives some examples by way of proof in the matter of vice, at to seek a mean (1107a18). He says that, because such things imply evil in themselves, seeking a mean and extremes in them is like attributing a mean to excess and defect, whether it be in acting unjustly, or cowardly, or lewdly—this would certainly be unfitting. Since these actions imply excess and defect, it follows that excess and defect would be a mean (which is a contradiction) and that we would have to find the excess of the excess and the defect of the defect, which could go on forever.

331. Third, he explains the same thing by example in the matter of virtue, at an excess (1107a22). Because temperance and fortitude imply a mean of themselves, they do not admit excess and defect in the sense that a man can be temperate or courageous in an excessive or defective manner. Likewise, the mean of those things that of themselves imply extremes cannot be excess and defect. But no matter how any one of them is done, it is vicious.

332. Last, he concludes that there cannot be a mean of any excess or defect, nor can there be an excess or defect of any mean.

Explanation of the Definition in Detail

Not only must we must speak of virtue under its universal aspect, but we must apply the doctrine to individual cases. In discussions that treat of actions, universals are not of much utility and particulars are more accurate, for actions are concerned with singulars. It is fitting, then, that discussions be in harmony with particulars. Therefore, our teaching must be based on the explanation of individual virtues. [333]

In actions concerned with fear and daring, the mean is fortitude. Here an excess in fearlessness lacks an applicable name (many things indeed are unnamed). But the man who is extreme in daring is called foolhardy, while the man who fears excessively and lacks daring is a coward. [335]

With regard to pleasures and pains—but not all of them—the mean is temperance (which is less concerned with pains). Excess in these things is called intemperance, but the defect does not often occur. Hence, persons lacking a sense of pleasure are unnamed, although they may be called insensible. [342]

In respect to the giving and receiving of money, the mean is liberality. The excess and defect are found in extravagance and stinginess, which in opposite ways do too much and too little. The spendthrift overdoes the giving and falls short in the acquisition, but the miser, on the contrary, is excessive in acquiring and deficient in giving. For the present, we are content to discuss these matters in outline and as contained under headings; later, we shall treat them more in detail. [343]

Having to do with the use of money are other habits, the mean of which is magnificence. The magnificent or princely person, as concerned with bestowing great sums, differs from the liberal person who gives small amounts. Excess in magnificence is called “apyrocalia” (vulgar display) and “banausia,” but the defect, meanness. These extremes differ from the extremes opposed to liberality, but the manner of the difference will be treated later. [344]

333. We must speak of virtue not only. After the Philosopher has explained what virtue is in a general way, he now applies the definition in a special way to each virtue.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows the necessity of this procedure.

Second, he carries out his proposal at in actions concerned with fear (1107a33; [335]).

He says first that not only must we speak of the essence of virtue not only in its universal aspect, but the general doctrine must be applied to each case in a special way. The reason he gives is that, in discussions concerned with actions, universals are not of much utility and particulars are more accurate because actions pertain to singulars. Fittingly, then, discussions about actions should be in harmony with particulars.

334. If, then, our study be about actions considered only universally, it will be futile both because it does not accomplish its purpose, which is the direction of individual actions, and because a study from a universal viewpoint—where deficiencies in particulars may not occur—cannot be made in these things by reason of the changeableness of the matter, as was said before [32–6]. But the study of particulars is more effective, being suitable to control actions, and also more accurate because particulars are understood to the extent that the universal is verified in them. What was said [289–332], therefore, about virtue in general must have been based upon the explanation of individual virtues.

335. Then, at in actions concerned with (1107a33), he carries out his proposal, showing by particular cases that the mean is good and praiseworthy but the extreme is evil and blameworthy.

First, he shows this in the virtues;

second, in the passions, at also in the passions (1108a30; [355]).

Regarding the first point, we must consider that virtues have been distinguished in two ways. Some observe the distinction of virtues according to certain general modes that are four in number. The root of virtue consists in the rectitude of reason, according to which we must direct our actions and passions. Actions, however, are to be directed in a way different from the passions, for actions in themselves do not resist reason, as buying, selling, and so forth. Consequently, for such things, reason need only establish a certain equality of rectitude. But the passions indicate a kind of inclination that can be contrary to reason in a twofold way.

336. In one way, it draws reason to something else, as is evident in all passions that deal with following the appetite—for example, concupiscence, hope, anger, and others of this kind. For these passions, reason must establish a rectitude in suppressing and restraining them.

In another way, passion shrinks from what is according to reason, as in all passions that denote flight of the appetite—for example, fear, hatred, and the like. In passions of this kind, reason must establish a rectitude by stabilizing the soul in what is conformable to reason. According to this, we designate four virtues, which some men call principal. Rectitude of reason itself pertains to prudence; equality is established in operations to justice; constancy of soul to fortitude; and moderation of the passions—as the words indicate—to temperance.

337. Some, therefore, have understood these virtues in a general way, thinking that all knowledge of truth belongs to prudence, the equality of all actions to justice, all constancy of soul to fortitude, and all curbing and moderation of the passions to temperance. Cicero, Seneca, and others spoke of these virtues in this way. They considered such to be general virtues and called all other virtues species of these.

338. But this distinction does not seem to be appropriate.

This is first because the above-mentioned virtues are of such a nature that, without them, there can be no virtue. Hence, the species of virtue cannot be differentiated by this.

Second, virtues and vices are not specified by reason but by their object, as was said above [322].

339. Aristotle then distinguishes virtues more fittingly according to their objects or matter. Thus, the previously mentioned four virtues are not called “principal” because they are general, but because their species are taken according to certain important notions, as prudence is not concerned with all knowledge of the truth, but especially with the act of reason that is command. Justice is not concerned with equality of all actions, but only of those referring to another, where the better thing is the establishment of equality. Fortitude is not concerned with every kind of constancy, but only that which arises at the fear of the danger of death. Temperance is not concerned with all restraint, but only with that of the desires and pleasures of touch. The other virtues, however, are, as it were, secondary. They can be reduced, therefore, to the previously mentioned virtues not as species to genus, but as secondary to principal virtues.

340. Since, then, these things have been taken for granted, we must know that the Philosopher does not treat justice and prudence here, but later on in book 5 [885–1108] and book 6 [1161–73]. He does treat here, however, temperance, fortitude, and certain other secondary virtues, all of which are concerned with some of the passions. But all passions regard some object that pertains to the bodily life of man, external goods, or human acts.

Therefore, he first mentions the virtues touching on the passions with objects that pertain to bodily life;

second, he mentions those pertaining to external goods, at in respect to the giving and receiving of money (1107b8; [343]);

third, those regarding exterior acts at there are three other means (1108a9; [350]).

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he speaks of fortitude, which regards dangers destructive of life.

Second, he speaks of temperance, which regards things useful for the preservation of life, such as food, by which life is preserved in the individual, and sex, by which life is preserved in the species, at with regard to pleasures and pains (1107b4; [342]).

341. He says first that fortitude is a mean concerned with fear and daring as regarding the danger of death. But of those sinning by excess, the state of the man who is excessive in being fearless and also deficient in fearing is not given any special name because this rarely happens. Likewise, many things are without a name because men do not advert to them ordinarily such that they would give them a name. But he who is extreme in daring is called rash. Such a one differs from the fearless man who is so called from the lack of fear, but the rash man is so called from an excess of daring. He who fears excessively and lacks daring is called a coward.

342. Then, at with regard to pleasures (1107b4), he discusses temperance. He says that temperance is a mean not for all pleasures and pains, but for those of touch, pertaining to food and sex. It is less concerned with pains than with pleasures, for pains of this kind are caused only from the absence of pleasures. Excess in such things is called intemperance, but the defect does not often occur, because everyone naturally desires pleasure. Hence, this defect is unnamed. He himself, however, invents a name and calls “insensible” those who do not feel pleasures of this kind. One who, contrary to right reason, avoids such pleasures is appropriately called insensible.

343. Then, at in respect to the giving (1107b8), he introduces the virtues that regard external things.

First, he treats those virtues concerned with the desire of external goods;

second, those that regard external evils, at with respect to anger (1108a4; [349]).

External goods are riches and honors.

First, then, he presents the virtues regulating riches;

second, those referring to honors, at the mean in regard to honor (1107b21; [345]).

Regarding the first, he does two things.

First, he treats liberality, which is concerned with moderate riches;

second, magnificence, which is concerned with great riches, at having to do with the use of money (1107b16; [344]).

He says first that liberality is a mean between the giving and receiving of money. But extravagance and stinginess constitute, in an opposite way, excess and defect. The spendthrift overdoes the giving and falls short in the acquisition, but the miser, on the contrary, is excessive in acquiring and deficient in giving. These matters are here discussed in outline or as conforming to a pattern and as falling under headings or summarily. Later he will treat more accurately both these and other matters [528–94; 595–648]; 658–706].

344. Then, at having to do with the use of money (1107b16), he introduces magnificence. He says that, besides the above-mentioned habits (liberality and the opposed vices), there are also other virtues concerned with money, for which even magnificence is a kind of mean. The princely or magnificent person, as engaged in expending great sums, differs from the generous person who gives small amounts. Excess in respect to magnificence is called “apyrocalia”—from “a,” meaning “without,” and “pyros,” meaning “practice,” and “kalos,” meaning “good”—that is, without the practice of what is good. Thus, those who spend a great deal care little about how they bestow their goods. This excess is also called “banausia”—from “banos,” meaning “furnace,” because, like a furnace, the squanderer consumes everything. The defect, however, is called “meanness.” These extremes in fact differ from those that are opposed to liberality, but the way they differ will be treated subsequently in book 4 [707–34].

Virtues Regarding Honors

The mean in regard to honor and dishonor is magnanimity. But the excess is chaumotes, or presumption, and the defect is smallness of soul. [345]

As we pointed out, liberality that bestows small amounts differs from magnificence. So also there is a virtue concerned with ordinary honors that differs from magnanimity, whose province is great honors. A man can desire ordinary honors in the right way, more than he ought, and less than he ought. If he is excessive in the desire of honors, he is called ambitious; if deficient, he is said to be unambitious. But he who strikes a mean has no special name. Likewise, the habits are without names except for ambition, which we call the excessive love of honors. Hence, persons who are in the extremes argue about the location of the mean. Even we sometimes call the man possessing the mean ambitious, and sometimes we call him unambitious. Why we do this will be explained afterward, but for the present, we should refer to the remaining states in the way indicated. [346]

With respect to anger, we find an excess, a defect, and a mean. Although these are for the most part without names, the man following the mean is called meek and the mean is called meekness. In regard to the extremes, he who is excessive is called irascible, and his vice irascibility. But he who is deficient is said to be apathetic and to have the defect of apathy. [349]

There are three other means that are alike in one respect and different in another. They are all concerned with communicating what we say and do, but they differ because one of them refers to the truth, and the others to the pleasantness found in this communication. One of these latter concerns pleasantness in the things said and done in jest, and the others regard the things that belong to the usual manner of living. We must speak of these things so that we may better understand that the mean is always praiseworthy but that the extremes are neither right nor to be praised, but rather to be condemned. Many of these also are without special names, but (as we have done with the others) we shall try to invent names for them for the sake of the clarity and the good that results. [350]

In regard to truth, the mean is possessed by the man who is truthful and is called truthfulness. But pretension, which is the excess, is called boasting, and the pretender is known as a braggart. The defect, however, may be named dissimulation or irony, and the pretender a dissembler. [352]

In respect to pleasantness concerned with amusement, the man who observes the mean is called witty, and the disposition itself, wit. But the excess is designated as buffoonery, and the person who is excessive, a buffoon. If one falls short in this matter, he is said to be boorish and to have the quality of boorishness. [353]

In the remaining kind of pleasantness—that is, in life generally—the man who is pleasant as he should be is called affable, and the mean he attains is affability. But he who carries this too far merely for the sake of pleasing is called obsequious. If, however, he acts for his own utility, he is called a flatterer. One who falls short in this matter and is always difficult is termed contentious and perverse. [354]

Also, a mean exists in the passions and the things regarding the passions. Modesty, for example, is not a virtue, but it is praised, as is the modest person, for in this question, a mean is attainable. The person who exceeds the mean and is embarrassed at everything is bashful. But one who falls short—that is, blushes at nothing—is shameless, while the person who strikes a happy mean is called modest. [355]

Righteous indignation may be assigned as the mean between envy and epicacotharchiaor (rejoicing in evil). These are concerned with pleasure and sorrow over what happens to our neighbors. The righteously indignant person is saddened at the unmerited prosperity of the wicked. But the envious person goes far beyond this and eats his heart out over the success of everyone. The man called epicacotharchos is so deficient in sadness that he actually rejoices. However, there will be time to treat of these matters elsewhere. Because justice is understood in various ways, we shall later treat its parts, showing how the mean is constituted in them. Likewise, we shall discuss the intellectual virtues. [356]

345. The mean in regard to honor and dishonor. Having completed the virtues that concern riches, he now treats those dealing with honors.

First, he deals with the virtue referring to great honors;

second, with the virtue referring to ordinary honors, at as we pointed out (1107b23; [346]).

He says first that magnanimity is the mean between honor and dishonor. But the excess in following after the things belonging to great honors is a certain disposition that is called “chaumotes” because it blazes forth in things pertaining to the desire of honor. In Greek, “cauma” is fire, and “capnos” means smoke. If the word be written “chapnotes,” it can be translated “exhalation” or “presumption.” We are accustomed to say that they who breathe with great difficulty on climbing high altitudes are wheezing or puffing. But the defect opposed to magnanimity is faint-heartedness.

346. Then, at as we pointed out (1107b23), he proposes another virtue referring to ordinary honors. He says, as has been indicated [344], that liberality differs from magnificence because liberality bestows small amounts while magnificence bestows great sums. So, too, there is a virtue concerned with ordinary honors that differs from magnanimity, which is concerned with great honors. That, in this question, there should be some virtue consisting in a mean is made clear by his adding that ordinary honors are desired as they ought to be (this belongs to the mean of virtue), more than they ought to be (this belongs to excess), and less than they ought to be (this belongs to the defect). He who excessively desires honor is ambitious or a lover of honor. He who is deficient in the desire of honor is unambitious or without the desire of honor. But he who strikes the mean has no special name.

347. Likewise, the dispositions—that is, the habits of vice or the mean of virtue—are unnamed. However, we can invent names, calling the habit by which a person excessively loves honor “ambition,” and the habit by which a person is deficient in the love of honor, “unambitiousness.” But, because the mean has not been named, the persons who are in the extremes argue about the location of the mean. Both maintain that they possess the mean. He explains this by drawing a comparison to two states that are in the habit of bickering over their common border when the boundary has not been fixed. Both claim the intervening territory as their own. But it is fairly common to all the vices for each of the extremes to think they possess the mean and that the virtuous are in the other extreme: namely, the coward considers the brave man reckless; the reckless man says the brave man is a coward. Hence, Aristotle states what is proper to this matter, that not only do the vicious appropriate the name of virtue to themselves, but even the virtuous use the name of the vice as if it were a virtue because the mean has not been named.

348. This is what he refers to when he adds that even we (speaking correctly, too) sometimes call a man who possesses the mean ambitious, and other times, unambitious. Also at times we praise a person because he is ambitious. We are accustomed to say in commending a person that he is solicitous about his honor, and thus we call the man who loves honor virtuous. On the other hand, we sometimes praise an unambitious man, saying in his praise that he does not care about the esteem of men, but about the truth. So we call the unambitious man virtuous. Why we do this will be explained afterward in book 4 [794–95]. But for the present, we should continue with the remaining mediums in the way designated, that is, as conforming to a pattern.

349. Then, at with respect to anger (1108a4), he proposes the virtue concerning external evils by which man is provoked to anger. He says that, in regard to anger, there is an excess, a defect, and a mean. Although all these for the most part are without names, we are accustomed to call the man following the mean meek, and the mean itself meekness. But he who is excessive in this passion we call irascible, and we say he has the quality of irascibility. The man, however, who is deficient we call apathetic and say he has the defect of apathy.

350. Then, at there are (1108a9), he proposes the virtues that concern human actions.

First, he shows their variety;

second, he gives examples of these, at in regard to truth (1108a19; [352]).

He says first that three means are alike in one respect and different in another. They are alike in that all refer to words and deeds in which men communicate among themselves. They are different in that, while one of them refers to the truth of such words and deeds, the others refer to pleasantness in these words and deeds, with one of those regarding pleasantness in the things that are said or done in jest and the others regarding what belongs to the usual manner of living, that is, serious matters.

351. We must speak of these things so it will become more apparent that the mean is always praiseworthy and the extremes are not to be praised, but rather condemned. Many of these are without special names, but as we have done with the others, we shall try to invent names to clarify what is said for the sake of the good that will ensue. The reason is that the purpose of this science is not the manifestation of truth, but virtuous activity.

352. Then, at in regard to truth (1108a19), he gives examples of these virtues, and first of that which concerns truth.

He says that, in regard to truth, the mean is had by the man who is called truthful, and the mean itself is called truthfulness. But pretension, which is the excess (when a person pretends greater things about himself than are true), is called boasting, and the pretender is called a braggart. But dissembling, which is the defect (when a person makes pretense of certain contemptible things about himself), is called dissimulation or irony. Such a pretender is called a dissembler.

353. Second, at in respect to pleasantness (1108a23), he gives an example of the virtue concerned with amusement. He says, regarding pleasantness in amusement, that the man who observes the mean is called “witty” (eutrapelos), giving as it were a pleasant turn to every incident. The disposition itself is called “wit” (eutrapelia). But the man who is guilty of excess is called a “buffoon” or bomolochus (from “bomo,” meaning “altar,” and “lochos,” meaning “plundering”). He is said to be like the bird of prey that always flew near the sacrificial altars to snatch some food. In a similar way, the man who is excessive in amusement always insists on snatching a word or action of someone to give it a comic turn. The disposition, however, is called “buffoonery.” But the man who is deficient is said to be “boorish” and to have the quality of “boorishness.”

354. Third, at in the remaining (1108a26), he exemplifies the third of these virtues, saying that, in the remaining pleasantness, which is in life, touching on our serious actions, the mean is struck by the friendly person—not so designated from the effect of friendship, but from amicable conversation. Such a one we term affable. The mean itself is called “friendliness,” or affability. But one who overdoes this merely for the purpose of pleasing is called “obsequious.” If he acts for his own utility—for example, his profit—he is called a “sycophant” or a “flatterer.” One who falls short in this matter and does not fear to sadden those he lives with is called “contentious” and “perverse.”

355. Then, at also, a mean exists (1108a30), he gives an example of certain laudable passions.

First, of modesty. He says that a mean is found even in the passions and their phases. Modesty, for instance, is not a virtue, as will be explained in the book 4 [867–82]. The modest person is praised because a mean can be taken in such matters. One who goes to excess so that he blushes at everything is called “cataplex,” a bashful person. But he who falls short, blushing at nothing, is called “shameless.”

356. Second, at righteous indignation (1108a35), he discusses another passion called “nemesis” or righteous indignation, which is a mean between envy and epicacotharchia, or rejoicing over evil (“tharcus” meaning “rejoicing,” “kakos” meaning “evil,” and “epi” meaning “over”). These are dispositions concerned with pleasure and sorrow over what happens to our neighbors. The righteously indignant person or the fair critic is saddened at the prosperity of the wicked. But the envious person goes to excess in grieving over all—both good and bad—who prosper. The person, however, called “epicotharchos,” is so deficient in sadness that he actually rejoices over the wicked who are successful in their wickedness. But these topics are treated elsewhere, in the Rhetoric.¹

357. Last, because justice has various parts in which the mean is differently understood, justice will be treated in book 5 [885–1108], together with the manner in which the parts consist in the mean. Likewise, the rational or intellectual virtues will be discussed later in book 6 [1109–291].

Opposition among the Virtues and Vices

There are three dispositions, of which two are vices: one by excess, the other by defect. The third is virtue and consists in the mean. Every one of these is opposed in some way to every other one, because not only are the extremes opposed to one another and to the mean, but the mean is opposed to the extremes. [358]

As the average is greater compared with the less and less compared with the greater, so mean habits are in excess compared with the defect and in defect compared with excess. This is true both in the passions and in actions. The brave man seems reckless compared with the coward but cowardly compared with the reckless. Likewise, the moderate man seems self-indulgent compared with the insensible man but insensible compared with the self-indulgent. Also, the generous person is a spendthrift in comparison with the miser but a miser in comparison with the spendthrift. [359]

For this reason, the extremes tend to throw the mean toward one another. The coward calls the brave man reckless, and the reckless man calls him a coward. A similar tendency is found in other extremes. [362]

These things are mutually opposed in such a way that there is a greater opposition of the extremes among themselves than to the mean. The reason is that the extremes are more removed from one another than from the mean, as great is more removed from small and small from great than either is from the average. [363]

Moreover, there seems to be a similarity between some extremes and the mean—for example, between rashness and fortitude, or between extravagance and generosity. But, between the extremes themselves, a complete dissimilarity exists. Now, the things that are farthest removed from one another are said to be contraries. Therefore, the things most removed from one another are more contrary. [364]

In some cases, it is the defect that is more opposed to the mean, but in other cases it is the excess. Thus, it is not rashness but cowardice, the defect, that is more opposed to fortitude. On the contrary, however, it is not insensibility (the defect) but self-indulgence (the excess) that is more opposed to temperance. [365]

This happens for two reasons, one of which is drawn from the very thing itself. It is not the extreme that is nearer and more like the mean, but its contrary that is more opposed to the mean. Thus, since rashness seems nearer and more like fortitude, it is cowardice, having less likeness, that is more opposed to fortitude. Things that are more removed from the mean seem to be more opposed to it. This first reason, then, comes from the thing itself. [366]

But the other reason arises on our part. Those vices that are somewhat innate in us seem in a way to be more opposed to the mean. For example, we more naturally follow pleasure, and so we are more easily moved to self-indulgence than to temperance. Therefore, we say that the vices that more readily increase are more opposed to virtue. For this reason, self-indulgence (which is an excess) is more opposed to temperance. [368]

358. There are three dispositions. After the Philosopher has shown in general what virtue is and has applied the definition to particular virtues, he treats the opposition of virtues and vices.

Regarding this question, he does three things.

First, he shows that there is a twofold opposition among these habits: one, of the vices among themselves; the other, of the vices to the virtues.

Second, he shows that the opposition among the vices themselves is the greater, at these things are mutually opposed (1108b26; [363]).

Last, he shows how one of the extremes is more opposed to virtue than the other, at in some cases (1108b35; [365]).

On the first point, he does three things.

First, he states his proposal.

Second, he proves the proposition, at as the average (1108b15; [359]).

Third, he deduces a corollary from what has been said, at for this reason, the extremes tend to throw (1108b23; [362]).

He says first that there are three dispositions, of which two are vices: one by excess, the other by defect. The third is according to virtue, which consists in a mean. Every one of these is opposed in some way to every other one, because not only are the extremes opposed to one another, but also the mean to the extremes.

359. Then, at as the average (1108b15), he proves what he had said. It was unnecessary to prove that two vices that are compared with one another as excess and defect are opposed, since they are far removed from one another. But it will seem doubtful that virtue is opposed to vices, as was just said [358]. Since virtue holds a middle place between the vices, virtue is not very far removed from either of them, while opposition is farthest apart, as stated in the Metaphysics.¹ Therefore, the Philosopher here makes a special point that virtue is opposed to both extremes.

360. On this subject, we must consider that the mean partakes to some extent of both extremes. Precisely as it partakes of one of them, it is contrary to the other, as the average—a mean between the great and small—is small compared with the great, but great compared with the small. Therefore, the average is opposed both to the great, by reason of the small, and to the small by reason of the great. Because of this, there is a motion of the contrary against the mean as against a contrary, as is explained in the Physics.¹

361. Therefore, the habits of the mean, in regard both to the passions and to actions, appear excessive to one who is in defect and deficient to one who is in excess. Thus, a brave man compared with a coward is reckless, but compared with a reckless man, a brave man is a coward. Likewise, a moderate man compared with an insensible man is self-indulgent, but compared with the self-indulgent, the moderate man is insensible. The same may be said of the generous man, who is a spendthrift in comparison with the miser, but a miser in comparison with the spendthrift. It is evident, then, that virtue is opposed to the extremes.

362. Then, at for this reason (1108b23), he deduces a corollary from what was said. Because the mean habit is constituted by comparison of one extreme with the nature of the other, the extremes tend to throw the mean toward one another. In other words, both extremes consider the mean as an extreme opposed to them. Thus, the coward calls the brave man reckless and the reckless man calls him a coward. This is an indication of what we just stated [359, 361], that virtue is opposed to both extremes.

363. Then, at these things are mutually opposed,(1108b26; [363]), he shows there is greater opposition of the vices among themselves than to virtue for two reasons.

The first reason is that, the more removed things are from one another, the more opposed they are, because opposition is a kind of distance. But the extremes are more removed from one another than from the mean, as great and small are more removed from one another than from the average, which is a mean between them, Therefore, vices are more opposed to one another than to virtue. We must consider that Aristotle speaks here about the opposition of virtue to vices not according to good and evil—in this way, both vices come under one extreme—but according as virtue, by reason of its own species, is a mean between two vices.

364. He states the second reason at moreover, there seems (1108b30; [364]). It is this. There is some similarity between virtue and one extreme—for instance, between fortitude and rashness, and between generosity and prodigality. But there is complete dissimilarity between the two extremes or vices. Therefore, they are opposed to one another in the greatest degree because their opposition denotes the greatest distance, as was indicated [359].

365. Then, at in some cases (1108b35), he shows that one extreme is more opposed to virtue than the other.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he states his proposal.

Second, he assigns the reasons, at this happens for two reasons (1109a5; [366]).

He says first that, in some cases, it is the defect that is more opposed to the mean of the virtue, but in other cases, it is the excess. Thus, not rashness, which certainly pertains to the excess, but cowardice, which pertains to the defect, is most opposed to fortitude. On the contrary, however, it is not insensibility (to which lack and defect belong), but self-indulgence (to which excess pertains), that is most opposed to temperance.

366. Then, at this happens for two reasons (1109a5), he assigns two reasons for what he said. One is taken from the thing itself, that is, from the very nature of the virtues and vices. It was just stated [364] that one extreme has a similarity to the mean of virtue. From the very fact that one extreme is nearer and more like the mean of virtue than the other, it follows that not the one more similar to the mean, but the one contrary to it, is more opposed to the virtue. Thus, if rashness is nearer and more like fortitude, it follows that cowardice is more unlike, and consequently more opposed to, fortitude. The reason is that the habits more removed from the mean seem to be more opposed to it. But the explanation of these things must be taken from the nature of the passions.

367. What Aristotle says here touches on the moral virtues concerned with the passions. To these virtues it belongs to preserve the good of reason against the movement of the passions. Now, passion can destroy the good of reason in two ways.

First, its vehemence can incite to greater activity than reason prescribes, especially in the desire of pleasure and in the other passions pertaining to the following of the appetite. Hence, the virtue that touches the passions of this kind aims principally at restraining these passions. For this reason, the vice referring to the defect is more like the virtue, and the vice referring to the excess is more opposed to it, as is evident in temperance.

But other passions destroy the good by withdrawing to something less than what is according to reason, as is evident in the case of fear and other passions having to do with flight. Hence, the virtue concerned with such passions strives as much as possible to strengthen man against defect in the good of reason. On this account the vice of defect is more opposed to the virtue, as is clear concerning fortitude.

368. Then, at but the other (1109a12), he assigns another reason on our part. Since virtue ought to restrain vices, the aim of virtue is to curb more effectively those vices to which we have a stronger inclination. For this reason, those vices which are in any way somewhat innate in us are more opposed to virtue. As from birth we more readily follow pleasures than flee from them, we are very early moved to self-indulgence, which implies an excess of pleasure. Therefore, we say that those vices that rather naturally tend to increase in us because we are by nature inclined to them are more opposed to virtue. For this reason, self-indulgence, to which excess of pleasure pertains, is more opposed to temperance than insensibility is, as has been observed [365].

Ways of Becoming Virtuous

A sufficient explanation has been given to show that moral virtue is a mean, how it is a mean, that it is a mean between two vices—one by excess and the other by defect—and that it aims at the mean both in the passions and operations. [369]

It is not easy to be virtuous, because in every case it is difficult to discover the mean. Thus, not every one can locate the center of a circle—it takes a person who knows. Likewise, it is easy for anyone to become angry, or to hand out money and waste it. But not everyone (for it is not easy) can give to the right person, in the right amount, at the right time, for the right purpose, in the right manner. All this pertains to virtuous giving, which is rare, praiseworthy, and good. [370]

For this reason, he who aims at the mean must first avoid the extreme that is more opposed to the mean. Circe used to give this warning: keep your ship beyond spray and rolling billow.¹ One of the extremes, indeed, is a greater sin and the other a lesser sin. Therefore, since it is exceedingly difficult to reach the mean, we must choose the lesser of the evils, as they say in navigation. This will be done best in the way we are going to point out. [371]

We must take into account the things to which we are easily inclined. Some of us are more prone by nature to one thing than another. Our natural inclination will be made known from the pleasure or sorrow we experience. We must, then, draw ourselves to the opposite, for by leading ourselves far away from sin, we shall arrive at the mean. A similar thing is done by nurserymen who straighten crooked saplings. [374]

Everyone ought to be on guard especially against the pleasurable thing and pleasure, for we cannot judge them without being unduly influenced by them. What the elders of the people felt toward Helen we ought to feel toward pleasure, and in all that concerns pleasure, repeat their words.¹ Rejecting pleasure in this way, we will fall into sin less frequently. Those who do as we have suggested under this heading will be quite able to acquire the mean. [377]

This is perhaps difficult in individual cases. It is not easy to determine in what manner we should be angry, in regard to what persons we should be angry, in what type of things we should be angry, and for how long a time we should be angry. Sometimes we praise those who are deficient in becoming angry and call them meek; sometimes we praise the irascible and call them manly. [379]

One who deviates a little from what is virtuous is not censured, whether it be in excess or in defect. But one who deviates much is blameworthy, for his deviation is not hidden. [380]

It cannot easily be determined, in so many words, at what point and how much a person is censurable. Neither is any other thing perceived by the senses determined in this way, for these are particular things and judgment of them is in the sensitive part of the soul. This much, then, shows that the mean habit is praiseworthy in all instances. However, sometimes we must incline toward excess and sometimes toward defect. Thus, we shall easily reach the mean and what is virtuous. [381]

369. A sufficient explanation has been given. After the Philosopher has treated the nature of virtue, he shows here how a person can acquire virtue. He does this because, as was indicated before [351], the purpose of this teaching is not that men may know the truth. but that they may become good.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows that it is difficult for man to become virtuous.

Second, he shows how man may attain this, at for this reason he who aims (1109a30; [371]).

The first notion calls for a twofold procedure.

First, he reviews what has been said. It has been sufficiently explained before [310, 316], he states, that moral virtue is a mean, how it is a mean (not objectively but relative to us), and between what things it is the mean—namely, between two vices, one by excess, the other by defect. It has also been explained [317–18] why virtue is a middle course, namely, because it aims at the mean; virtue searches out and chooses the mean both in the passions and in actions.

370. Second, at it is not easy (1109a24), he concludes from the premises that it is difficult to be studious or virtuous, because we see that, in every case, it is difficult to discover the mean, but easy to deviate from the mean. Thus, not everyone—only one who knows, like a geometrician—can find the center of a circle. On the other hand, anyone can easily deviate from the center. Likewise, anyone can hand out money and waste it. But not everyone (for it is not easy) can give to the right person, in the right amount, at the right time, for the right purpose, in the right manner—all of which belongs to virtuous giving. Indeed, because of the difficulty, it is a rare and difficult thing, but praiseworthy and virtuous precisely as conforming to reason.

371. Then, at for this reason (1109a30), he shows the ways in which a person may become virtuous. On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows how a person can discover the mean.

Second, he treats the discovery of the mean, at this is perhaps difficult (1109b14; [379]).

In regard to the first, he gives three admonitions.

One of these is taken from the nature of the thing. He states that it is difficult to become virtuous and to discover the mean. Therefore, one who aims at the mean (namely, he who intends to attain the mean) must strive principally to avoid the extreme more opposed to the virtue. Thus, if someone wishes to arrive at the mean of fortitude, he ought to direct his principal efforts to avoiding cowardice, which is more opposed to fortitude than rashness is, as has been explained [365].

372. He gives an example of a certain Circe, who used to warn sailors to beware chiefly of the greatest dangers from the sea, which are waves sinking the ship and mist obscuring the vision of the sailors—keep your ship beyond spray and rolling billow—as if to say, so guard your ship that you may escape spray and waves.

373. He gives the reason for this admonition, saying that one of the extremes—that which is more opposed to the virtue—is a greater sin, but that the extreme that is less opposed to the virtue is a lesser sin. Therefore, since it is exceedingly difficult to reach the mean of virtue, a man ought to try to avoid at least the greater dangers that are more opposed to virtue. Thus, sailors say that, after the best voyage on which a man is exposed to no dangers, the next best is to choose the least of the dangers. A similar thing happens to a man’s life in the way that was explained [371], that he may chiefly avoid the vices that are opposed to virtue.

374. He gives the second admonition at we must take into account (1109b1). It is taken from our part, as far as concerns the things proper to each of us. One who wishes to be virtuous, he says, must take into account that to which his appetite is naturally inclined. Different people are more inclined by nature to one thing than another. Each one can know what he is naturally inclined to from the pleasure and sorrow he experiences, because what is agreeable to each according to his nature is pleasurable.

375. Hence, if someone takes pleasure in a particular action or passion, this is a sign that he is naturally inclined to it. But men vehemently tend to the things to which they are naturally inclined, and so easily exceed the mean in this matter. We therefore must draw ourselves as much as possible to the opposite. The reason is that, when we make an effort to recede from sin, to which we are prone, we will finally with difficulty arrive at the mean. He makes a comparison with nurserymen who straighten crooked saplings. These men, wishing to make trees straight, force them the opposite way and so bring them to the middle.

376. Here we must consider that this way of acquiring virtues is most effective: a man should strive for the opposite of that to which he is inclined either by nature or habit. However, the way advocated by the Stoics is easier: a man should little by little withdraw from those things to which he is inclined, as Cicero relates in his work Questiones Tusculanae.¹ The way that Aristotle lays down is suitable for those who strongly desire to withdraw from vice and to attain virtue. But the way of the Stoics is more appropriate to those who have weak and halfhearted wills.

377. He lays down the third admonition at everyone ought to be (1109b7). This is also understood to be on our part, not in the sense that it is proper to every individual, as has been said [374–6] of the second admonition, but precisely as it is common to all. All are naturally inclined to pleasure. Therefore, he says that everyone without exception who aims at virtue ought to be on his guard especially against pleasures. Because men are very inclined to pleasure, pleasurable objects apprehended easily move their appetite. Hence, he notes that we cannot easily judge pleasure by dwelling on its consideration without the appetite accepting it and bursting forth in desire for it. What the Trojan elders felt toward Helen when they decided that she must depart we ought to feel toward pleasure; in all that concerns pleasure we ought to echo their words in order that we may reject bodily pleasures. Rejecting pleasures in this way, we will fall into sin less frequently, since the desire of pleasure leads men to many sins.

378. He concludes, then, that those who do what has been suggested under this heading—that is, summarily—will be quite able to acquire the mean of virtue.

379. Then, at this is perhaps difficult (1109b14), he shows how the mean of virtue must be determined. On this point, he does three things.

First, he indicates the difficulty of this.

Second, he shows what suffices to determine the mean, at one who deviates a little (1109b18; [380]).

Third, he answers a latent question, at it cannot easily be determined (1109b20; [381]).

He says first that it is difficult to discover the mean especially when we consider the particular circumstances in individual actions. The reason is that it is not easy to determine how a thing is to be done and in regard to what persons, and in what type of things, and how long a time one should be angry. He gives a sign of this difficulty: those who are deficient in getting angry, for instance, are sometimes praised by us and called meek, while those who are rather irascible in inflicting punishment or making resistance are sometimes praised by us and called manly.

380. Then, at one who (1109b18), he indicates what suffices for the mean of virtue. He says that one who deviates a little from what is done well according to virtue is not censured, whether he inclines to excess or defect. The reason is that a slight departure from the mean of virtue is hidden on account of the difficulty with the mean. But one who deviates greatly is censured because the deviation is not hidden.

381. Then, at it cannot easily (1109b20), he answers a latent question. Someone could ask how much departure from the mean should be censured and how much should not. He himself answers that it cannot easily be determined, in so many words, at what point and how much a person departing from the mean should be blamed. Likewise, no other sensible thing, which is judged rather by sense than by reason, can easily be determined. Things of this kind, belonging to the operations of the virtues, are individual cases. For this reason, judgment about them exists in the sensitive part of the soul—even if not in the external, at least in the internal sense, by which a person judges well about singulars and to which belongs the judgment of prudence, as will be said in book 6 [1215, 1249]. But this much suffices here to show that the mean habit in all cases is rather praiseworthy. However, we must sometimes incline toward excess and sometimes toward defect, either on account of the nature of virtue or on account of our inclination, as is clear from what was explained above [369–78]. Thus, the mean according to which a thing is done well will be easily discovered. So ends book 2.

Voluntary and Involuntary Action

Since virtue is concerned with passions and actions, and since praise and censures are apportioned for what is voluntary but pardon—or at times even pity—for what is involuntary, the study of the voluntary and the involuntary is required of those who intend to treat of virtue. [382]

It is useful also for legislators in decreeing honors and punishments. [385]

Involuntary actions seem to be those that arise either from violence or from ignorance. [386]

The violent action is one whose principle is from outside and to which the person involved or the recipient contributes nothing, for example, if he is driven somewhere by the wind, or if he is in the power of other men. [387]

Some things are done because of the fear of greater evils or because of the hope of some good. Thus a tyrant, having in his power the parents or children of a certain man, commands him to do a disgraceful deed on condition that they will be spared if he does it, but killed if he does not do it. Here a doubt arises whether the man’s actions are voluntary or involuntary. A similar case is found in the decision to throw goods overboard during storms at sea. Absolutely speaking, no man would do so voluntarily, but if it means that his life and that of others are saved as a result, a sensible man will do it. [388]

Operations of this kind are mixed. However, they approach more closely to voluntary actions, for they are voluntary at the time they are done, and the end of the action conforms to this particular time. An action, then, must be called voluntary or involuntary by reference to the time at which it was done. In our case, the man acts voluntarily because the principle moving his bodily members in these operations is within the man himself. Actions whose source is within man are in his power to do or not to do, and this belongs to the nature of the voluntary. But the actions may be called involuntary simply, for no one would choose to do such a thing in itself. [390]

382. Since virtue is concerned with passions. After the Philosopher has treated virtue in general, he treats here certain principles of virtuous acts. In defining virtue, he said [305] that virtue is a habit of correct choosing, because virtue works by means of choice. Now he logically discusses choice together with the voluntary and willing. The voluntary is common to these three, for the voluntary is anything that is freely done; choice, however, concerns the things that are for the end; and willing considers the end itself.

Hence, this section falls into two parts.

In the first part, he deals with the three previously mentioned principles of virtuous actions.

In the second part, at since willing regards the end (1113b3; [496]), he will compare these principles with the acts of the virtues.

His initial point calls for a threefold procedure.

First, he determines the voluntary and the involuntary.

Second, at after the treatise (1111b4; [432]), he deals with choice.

Third, at as was stated before (1113a15; [388]), he treats the act of willing.

In regard to the first of these, he does two things.

First, he shows that it pertains to the present discussion to consider the voluntary and the involuntary.

Second, at involuntary actions seem (1109b35; [386]), he actually treats them.

Two reasons are advanced in proof of the first point.

383. The first of these reasons is taken from what is peculiar to our present study concerning the virtues. He concludes from his previous remarks that moral virtue, our present concern, deals with passions and actions in such a way that, in the things that are voluntary in regard to actions and passions, praise is due to anyone acting virtuously and blame to anyone acting viciously. But, when someone involuntarily performs an action in accordance with virtue, he does not merit praise. On the other hand, if his action is contrary to virtue, he deserves pardon because he acted involuntarily, and so is less blameworthy. Sometimes he even deserves pity and should be entirely freed from blame.

384. Pardon can also be distinguished from pity in this way: we speak of pardon when censure—that is, a penalty—is lessened or entirely absolved as a consequence of the judgment of reason. Pity, on the other hand, arises as a consequence of an emotion. But praise and blame are peculiarly due to virtue and vice. Therefore, the voluntary and the involuntary, according to which the reason for praise and blame is diversified, ought to be treated by those who intend to study virtue.

385. At it is useful (1109b34), he gives the second reason. This is taken from the viewpoint of political science, to which the present study is ordered. It is useful for legislators, he says, to consider the voluntary and the involuntary that they may decree honors for the law-abiding and punishments for the law-breakers, for in regard to these, the distinction between voluntary and involuntary is of importance.

386. Then, at involuntary actions seem (1109b35), he deals with the voluntary and the involuntary.

First, he treats the involuntary;

second, at since the involuntary (1111a22; [425]), he treats the voluntary.

The reason for this order is that the involuntary proceeds from a simple cause, such as ignorance alone or violence alone, but the voluntary has to take place by the concurrence of many factors. The explanation of the involuntary is achieved in three stages.

First, he divides the involuntary.

Second, at the violent action is (1110a1; [387]), he treats one member of the division.

Third, at every action done (1110b18; [406]), he treats the other member.

He says first that some involuntary actions seem to be of two kinds: those arising from violence and those arising from ignorance. This division is made in order to indicate that the involuntary is a privation of the voluntary. But the voluntary implies a movement of the appetitive power presupposing a knowledge via sense or reason, because a good perceived moves the appetitive power. A thing is involuntary on two accounts: first, because the movement of the appetitive power is excluded, and this is the involuntary resulting from violence; second, because a mental awareness is excluded, and this is the involuntary resulting from ignorance.

387. Next, at the violent action (1110a1), he deals with the involuntary resulting from violence. Here he proceeds in two ways.

First, he discloses what the violent action is.

Second, at if someone should say (1110b9; [400]), he rejects an error about this.

His initial point requires a triple consideration.

First, he makes known what the violent action is;

second, at some things are done because of the fear (1110a4; [388]), what the morally forced action is;

third, at what sort of actions (1110b1; [398]), he concludes with a summary.

He says first that the violent action is one whose principle is from outside. It was just noted [385] that violence excludes the appetitive movement. Hence, since the appetitive faculty is an intrinsic principle, it is appropriate that the forced action arise from an extrinsic principle. However, not every action whose principle is from the outside is a violent action, but only that action that is derived from an extrinsic principle in such a way that the interior appetitive faculty does not concur with it. This is what he means by his statement that a violent action must be such that a man contributes nothing to it by means of his own appetitive faculty. A man is here said to be an agent inasmuch as he does something because of violence and a patient inasmuch as he suffers something because of violence. Aristotle gives an example of when the air or wind drives a thing to some place by its violence, or when rulers, having dominion and power, exile someone against his will.

388. At some things (1110a4), he explains what a morally forced action is. Three steps clarify this conclusion.

First, he raises a doubt.

Second, at operations of this kind (1110a11; [390]), he solves the doubt.

Third, at people doing such actions (1110a19; [396]) he clarifies the solution.

He says first that a man sometimes performs an action because he fears to incur greater evils or because he is afraid to lose some good. A tyrant, for instance, has under his dominion and power the parents or children of a certain man. This tyrant commands the man to do a disgraceful deed on condition that, if he does it, his relatives will be spared but, if he refuses, they will be killed.

389. There is then a doubt whether things done because of such fear should be called voluntary or involuntary. He gives another example of sailors who, during storms at sea, throw merchandise overboard. Absolutely speaking, no man does this voluntarily, but what he and his shipmates do in order to save their lives would be done by any sensible man in a similar situation.

390. Then, at operations of this kind (1110a11), he solves this doubt by concluding from his previous remarks [387] that the aforementioned actions done out of fear are mixed, that is, have something both of the involuntary (inasmuch as no one absolutely wishes to throw his goods overboard) and of the voluntary (inasmuch as a sensible man wishes this for the safety of himself and others). However, these actions approach more closely to the voluntary than to the involuntary. The reason is that throwing merchandise overboard, or any action of this kind, can be considered in two ways: one, absolutely and in general, and thus it is involuntary; the other, in the particular circumstances occurring at the time the action is to be done, and according to this, it is voluntary. But, since actions are concerned with particulars, the nature of the action must be judged rather according to the considerations of particulars than according to the consideration of what is general. This is what he means in his statement that these actions were done voluntarily at the time they were performed (that is, after having considered all the particular circumstances then occurring), and the end and completion of the action conform to this particular time.

391. Therefore, an action must be properly called voluntary or involuntary in view of the time at which the agent performed it. It is obvious that he acts voluntarily at the time. This is evident because, in these actions, the principle moving the bodily members to act is within the man himself. It would be different, however, if his members were not moved by himself, but by a more powerful agent. The things done by an intrinsic principle are in the power of man to do or not to do, and this belongs to the nature of the voluntary. Obviously, then, actions of this kind are properly and truly voluntary. They are, however, involuntary simply—that is, considering them in general—because no one, as far as it lies within himself, would choose to do a thing of this kind except out of fear, as was just stated [390].

Definition of Violent Action

People doing such actions are at times praised for enduring something dishonorable or painful to achieve great and good results. But, when they do the opposite of this, they are blamed, for only a perverse man suffers very dishonorable things in exchange for little or no good. [392]

Some actions do not deserve praise, but only pardon—for example, if a person does things that are wrong because he fears evils beyond human endurance that no one would undergo in any case. [394]

Yet it is probable that there are actions that a man cannot be forced to do, and he ought to undergo death of the cruelest kind rather than do them. The reasons that constrained Euripides’ Alcmaeon to kill his mother seem to be ridiculous. [395]

Sometimes it is difficult to judge what is to be chosen for the price and what is to be endured for the gain. [396]

It is still more difficult to abide by our decisions. As often happens, the expected results are painful but the compulsory acts are disgraceful. Hence, we receive praise and blame according as we yield or stand firm against the constraint. [397]

What sort of actions, then, are to be called compulsory? Those actions are simply compulsory that have their cause from the outside, with the person involved contributing nothing. Some actions that in themselves are involuntary become voluntary in particular circumstances. Although of themselves involuntary, if their principle is in the agent who seeks them at this time and in these circumstances, they are voluntary. They are then more like the voluntary because they take place in particular cases that are voluntary. It is not easy to assign the sort of things we must choose in such circumstances, for particular cases admit of many differences. [398]

If someone should say that pleasurable and good things are the cause of violence (they are external to us and influence us), all our actions will then be compulsory, because men perform all their actions for the sake of something pleasing and good. [400]

Those who act by violence act involuntarily and with sadness, but those who act to attain something enjoyable act with pleasure. [402]

It is ridiculous that a man blame external goods and not accuse himself for being snared by such pleasures, [403]

while he takes to himself the credit for virtuous deeds and lays the blame for his shameful deeds upon pleasure. [404]

It seems that the compulsory action is one whose origin is external in such a way that one who suffers violence contributes nothing to the action. [405]

392. People doing such actions. After the Philosopher has solved the doubt raised about the actions done because of fear, showing that such actions are voluntary, he now clarifies the solution by explaining that praise and blame, honor and punishment, are due to voluntary actions of this kind.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he discloses in what way these actions merit praise and blame, honor and punishment.

Second, at sometimes it is difficult (1110a29; [396]), he makes known the pending difficulties about this.

In regard to the first, he distinguishes three grades of these actions performed by reason of fear as far as they merit praise or blame.

393. Considering now the first grade, he shows that, regarding such actions, which he says are a mixture of the voluntary and the involuntary, some persons are praised for suffering something dishonorable—not indeed of a sinful nature, but a kind of ignominy—or even something saddening or grievous in order to persevere in certain great and good things, such as virtuous actions. When the opposite happens, they are blamed, since it seems that only a perverse man suffers very dishonorable things—that is, great disorders—in exchange for little or no good. No one suffers any evil to preserve a good unless that good is of greater value in his estimation than the other goods to which the evil he suffers are opposed. It belongs to a disordered desire to prefer small goods to great ones that are destroyed by greater evils. Therefore, he says this pertains to a perverse man, that is, one who has a disordered desire.

394. At some actions (1110a23), he sets down the second grade, stating that some actions performed because of fear do not deserve praise, but only pardon. A person should not be blamed very much for doing certain things he ought not do, such as actions unbefitting his state. These actions should not be considered seriously binding, on account of the fear of evils beyond human endurance. No one would undergo such evils especially for the reason alleged—for example, if someone is threatened with punishment by fire unless he tells a jocose lie or he performs some lowly menial tasks unbecoming his dignity.

395. At yet it is probable (1110a26), he treats the third grade. He states that other actions are so evil that no amount of force can compel them to be done, but a man ought to undergo death of the cruelest kind rather than do such things, as St. Lawrence endured the roasting on the gridiron to avoid sacrificing to idols. The Philosopher affirms this either because glory remains after death for one dying for the sake of virtue or because courageous perseverance in virtue is so great a good that continuance of life—which a man loses by death—cannot equal it. He says, therefore, that Alcmaeon, or the poems about Alcmaeon written by Euripides, seem to be satirical. These poems narrate the story of Alcmaeon, who was forced to kill his mother by the command of his father. The father had ordered this when dying in the Theban War, to which he had gone by the advice of his wife.

396. Then, at sometimes it is (1110a29), he brings forward two difficulties that threaten the above-mentioned activities. The first of these pertains to the judgment of reason. Sometimes it is difficult, he says, to judge what is to be chosen so that one may avoid evil and what evil is to be endured so that one may not be lacking in some good.

397. The second difficulty, which he gives at it is still more (1110a30), pertains to the stability of the affection. He says that it is even more difficult to be steadfast in a reasonable decision that has been made than to make a right judgment. He assigns the reason for the difficulty, saying that, as often happens, the things that are expected are painful—that is, afflicting or sorrowful—but those to which men are forced because of fear are disgraceful. It is difficult, however, for a man’s affections not to be moved by fear of pain. Since those actions to which one is forced by a motive of this kind are disgraceful, it is fitting that, for those who are forced to do such things by fear of painful effects, blame should be forthcoming. But those who cannot be forced to do them are worthy of praise.

398. Next, at what sort of actions, then (1110b1), he sums up in conclusion the things that have been said and assigns a reason for them.

First, he reviews the principal question, what sort of actions are to be called violent.

Second, he sums up the answer so far as concerns the absolutely compulsory actions, the cause of which is from the outside, such that the person involved contributes nothing because of violence.

Third, he gives a list of mixed actions. He says that those actions that in themselves—that is, absolutely and universally considered—are involuntary become voluntary at a definite time and by reason of certain events. Although they are involuntary in themselves, their principle is in the agent. Therefore, they should be called voluntary at this time and for these reasons. Thus, it is evident that these actions are more like the voluntary than the involuntary, because they are voluntary when we consider the particular circumstances in which the actions are performed.

399. Fourth, he recapitulates what he had stated about the difficulty occurring in things of this kind. He says that it is not easy to assign the sort of thing we must choose in such circumstances. He assigns as the reason that many differences are found in singulars. Hence, the judgment of them cannot be comprised under an exact rule, but they are to be left to the evaluation of a prudent man.

400. At if someone (1110b9), he rejects an error of certain philosophers concerning actions done as a result of violence. Because man is what he is by reason, it seemed to some that man of himself, and (as it were) voluntarily, does only that which he performs according to reason. But, when it happens that man acts contrary to reason, on account either of the desire of some pleasure or greed for some external good, he acts in a violent manner. They say, therefore, that pleasurable and external goods, such as riches, cause forced actions, inasmuch as, being external things, they force man to act against his reason. Aristotle shows this to be false for five reasons.

401. The first reason is this. If external things, precisely as they are pleasurable and seemingly good, cause violence, it would follow that all actions we perform in human affairs are forced actions and none is voluntary. All men do what they do for the sake of these things, that is, for something that is pleasurable or good under a certain aspect. But this is unreasonable. Therefore, the first statement (that these external things cause violence) is also untenable.

402. He sets down the second reason at those who act (1110b11). All who act as a result of violence act involuntarily and with sadness. Hence, in the Metaphysics,¹ it is well said that necessitation is saddening because it is opposed to the will. But those who act to acquire something enjoyable act with pleasure. They do not, then, act by violence and involuntarily.

403. He gives the third reason at it is ridiculous (1110b13). He says it is ridiculous that a man plead an excuse or blame external goods and not accuse himself that he was snared, that is, permitted himself to be overcome by such pleasures. Our will is not of necessity moved by these desirable things, but it can cling to them or desert them. None possesses the nature of a universal and perfect good, as happiness (which everyone necessarily wishes) does.

404. He assigns the fourth reason at while he takes (1110b14). It is ridiculous, he says, that a person should call himself the cause of his good and virtuous works, but pleasurable things the cause of his shameful deeds inasmuch as they induce desire. Aristotle says it is ridiculous because directly opposed operations are referred back to the same power as a cause. Consequently, it is necessary that, as reason operating according to itself is the cause of virtuous action, so also in following the passions, it should be the cause of vicious action.

405. He gives the fifth reason at it seems that (1110b15), saying that the forced action is one whose source is from the outside in such a way that he who suffers by reason of it contributes nothing to the action. But the man who acts on account of external goods does contribute something to the action. Accordingly, although the principle inclining his will is from outside, his action is forced neither simply—because he contributes something to the action—nor by some mixture, because, in mixed actions, a thing is not rendered simply voluntary, as happens here. Therefore, a man acts in that case with sadness, and not with pleasure, as has been stated [402].

The Involuntary Resulting from Ignorance

Every action done because of ignorance is not voluntary; it is involuntary if sorrow and repentance follow. One who does something on account of ignorance and is not sorry about what he did cannot be said to have acted voluntarily, for he was unaware of his action. But neither can he be said to have acted involuntarily if he is not sorry. A man who has acted from ignorance and regrets his action seems to have acted involuntarily. But if he does not regret it, his case is different; let us call him non-voluntary. Because he differs, it is better that he have a distinctive name. [406]

There seems to be a difference between acting on account of ignorance and acting in ignorance. A drunken or angry person does not act because of ignorance, but because of one of the things mentioned (drunkenness or anger). Such a one, however, does not act knowingly, but in ignorance. Therefore, every wicked person acts in ignorance of the things he ought to do and avoid. Men acting on account of an error of this kind become unjust and wicked generally. [409]

When we speak of an action as involuntary, we do not mean that a man is ignorant of what he ought to do. The ignorance that accompanies choice is not the cause of an involuntary action, but of sin. The same may be said of ignorance that is of a general nature, because a person is blamed for such ignorance. But a person who is ignorant of particular conditions about which and on which human activity is exercised deserves mercy and pardon, because he who is ignorant of any of these circumstances acts involuntarily. [411]

Perhaps it is not out of place to determine the nature and number of these circumstances: who, what, concerning what or in what one operates; also sometimes by what, such as a tool; for the sake of which, such as safety; and in what manner, such as quietly or violently. [414]

No one but a madman will be ignorant of all these circumstances. It is obvious that no one can be ignorant of the agent. How can he be ignorant about himself? But someone can be ignorant of what he does. For instance, those speaking out of turn say that it escaped them unawares or that they did not know that certain things were not to be disclosed: like Aeschylus when he revealed the sacred mysteries; or someone wishing to show the working of a weapon who discharges an arrow; or a man who mistakes his son for an assailant, as Merope did, or thinks a piked lance blunted or a rock merely pumice; or one who kills someone by a blow meant to save him; or a trainer who takes the life of a boxer while sparring with him to teach him. [417]

Since ignorance can be concerned with every one of the circumstances occurring with the action, that man seems to act involuntarily who is ignorant of one of them. This applies especially to ignorance of the most important circumstances. [422]

These seem to be the circumstances of the action and its motives. [423]

For an action to be called involuntary in respect of such ignorance, it must be painful to the agent and cause repentance. [424]

406. Every action done because of ignorance. After the Philosopher has determined the involuntary resulting from violence, he now turns his attention to the involuntary resulting from ignorance.

Concerning it, he does two things.

First, he shows how there is an involuntary action resulting from ignorance.

Second, at perhaps it is (1111a3; [414]), he explains some of his statements.

In regard to the initial point, he sets down three differences concerning ignorance. The first of these is considered insofar as what is done on account of ignorance is related to the will in different ways. Sometimes it is opposed to the will, and then it is properly called involuntary. But at other times, it is not opposed to the will, but is over and above the will precisely as it is unknown. In this sense, it is not called involuntary, but non-voluntary.

407. He says, then, that what is done on account of ignorance in such a way that ignorance is the cause is not voluntary in any case, because the act of the will is not moved to it. The act of the will cannot be moved to what is entirely unknown, since the will’s object is the known good. But only then is that which is done out of ignorance called involuntary—as it were, opposed to the will—when, on becoming known, sorrow and repentance (which is sorrow over one’s past actions) follow. A thing is sorrowful because it is opposed to the will, as is stated in the Metaphysics.¹

408. One who does something on account of ignorance and is not sorry about what he did after he knows it—for instance, if he takes silver, thinking he took tin—cannot be said to have voluntarily taken silver, since he did not know that it was silver. But it cannot be said that he involuntarily took silver—that is, against his will—since he is not sorry that he did take silver by reason of ignorance. He seems to have acted involuntarily who has sorrow or repents for the fact that he took silver by reason of ignorance, just as if someone had, on the contrary, taken tin, thinking he has taken silver. But, because he who does not repent is different from the man who does repent (he is said to be unwilling), let the first be called non-willing. Since he really differs from the one who is unwilling, it is better that he have a proper and separate name.

409. He sets down the second difference at there seems to be (1110b24). This is taken according to the difference of what is done in ignorance; for ignorance sometimes is the cause of an action, but sometimes the act proceeds from another cause. He says that a person acting on account of ignorance seems to be different from a person acting in ignorance. Sometimes one acts in ignorance but not on account of ignorance. A drunken or angry person does not act on account of ignorance, but on account of drunkenness or anger. Neither of these, however, acts knowingly, because ignorance is caused at the same time as the action by drunkenness and anger. Thus, ignorance is concomitant with the action and is not its cause.

410. From this, he concludes that, as an angry person acts in ignorance and not on account of ignorance, but on account of anger, so every wicked person acts not indeed on account of ignorance, but partly in ignorance of the good he ought to do and of the evil he ought to avoid, inasmuch as he thinks that, at this moment, he should do this evil and refrain from this good. For this reason, he sins, because he does what he ought not to do. Men who act in ignorance universally become unjust with respect to others and wicked with respect to themselves. From this it is evident that, when someone acts in ignorance, and not on account of ignorance, he does not cause involuntarily. The reason is that no one is unjust or wicked by reason of what he does involuntarily.

411. He assigns the third difference at when we speak (1110b30). This is taken from the object of the person’s ignorance. Here we must consider that ignorance can be of two kinds. According to one, a person is ignorant of what he ought to do or avoid. He says this is ignorance of what is fitting—of what he ought to be doing. This ignorance does not cause an involuntary action, because ignorance of this kind cannot happen to a man with the use of reason except from negligence. The reason is that everyone is bound to be solicitous about knowing what he is obliged to do and to avoid. Hence, if a man does not wish to avoid (as he is bound to do) ignorance that is considered voluntary, it follows that what is done through this ignorance should not be judged involuntary. This is the meaning of the saying that one does not wish an involuntary action (namely, what is by nature involuntary) if he is ignorant of what he does, that is, of what is suitable under the circumstances. Of this, someone can be ignorant in two ways.

412. One is in a particular choice: for instance, because of sensual desire a person thinks he should commit fornication at this time. The other way is in general, as is evident in one who is of the opinion that fornication is always lawful. Both kinds of ignorance concern what is done. Hence, neither causes an involuntary action. This is what is meant by saying that that ignorance accompanying choice (by which a person thinks he should do this evil at this time) is not the cause of an involuntary act, but is rather the cause of vice or sin. Neither is the ignorance that is of a general nature the cause of an involuntary action, since a person is blamed on account of ignorance of this kind. But no one is censured because of an involuntary action, as was said previously [410].

413. The other ignorance is of singular conditions—for instance, that this woman is married, that this man is a parent, that this place is holy. It is about these conditions and on them that human activity is exercised; by reason of a justifiable ignorance of such conditions, a person deserves mercy and pardon, because he who is ignorant of one of these conditions acts involuntarily. Therefore, it is obvious that ignorance of particular circumstances of this kind—not, however, ignorance of what one should do—is the cause of an involuntary action.

414. Then, at perhaps it is not (1111a3), he explains what he had referred to: those circumstances the ignorance of which is a cause of an involuntary action. In regard to this, he does three things.

First, he points out what these circumstances are.

Second, at no one but (1111a6; [417]), he shows in what way ignorance of them may be present.

Third, at since ignorance can be (1111a15; [422]), he explains how ignorance of these circumstances is the cause of an involuntary action.

On the first point, we must consider that circumstances are nothing else but certain particular conditions of a human act. These can be taken either on the part of the causes of the act or on the part of the act itself. The cause of the act is efficient or final. The efficient cause is either the principal or the instrumental agent. On the part of the act, three things can be understood: the genus of the act, the matter or the object itself, and the mode of acting. In agreement with this, the Philosopher here places six circumstances. He says that it is not out of place—indeed it is very appropriate—to determine what and how many are these particular circumstances, the ignorance of which is the cause of an involuntary action. He uses an adverb, forsitan, indicating doubt, as in many other places of this book, because of the uncertainty in moral matters.

415. Enumerating then these particular things he names: who, which refers to the person of the principal agent; what is done, which refers to the genus of the act; and concerning what, which refers to the matter or the object. But he adds also concerning this—which refers to the measure of the act—as belonging to the agent, namely, place or time, since he says or in what he operates. The reason is that all external things seem to have relation to the human act. Cicero includes what we call “concerning what” under “what.” What is here called in what he divides into two circumstances: time and place.

416. As concerns the instrumental agent, Aristotle adds: sometimes also “by what,” such as an instrument, since not every action is performed through an instrument, like understanding and willing. In place of this, some put “by what aids,” for one to whom help is given uses help as an instrument. Referring to the end, he says for the sake of which—for instance, a doctor cuts for the sake of health. Referring to the mode of acting, he says and in what manner, for example, quietly—that is, lightly—or violently, that is, strongly.

417. Next, at no one but (1111a6), he shows in what way there may be ignorance about the preceding circumstances. He says that only a totally insane person is ignorant of all these circumstances. Among the other circumstances, it is obvious that a man cannot be ignorant of what is meant by the one acting, because, in this case, he would be ignorant about himself (which is impossible). But someone can be ignorant of what he does, as those who disclose things that should not be disclosed say in excusing themselves that it slipped their mind or that they never knew that such things were secret, that is, were not to be spoken. Thus were revealed the sacred mysteries or secrets by Aeschylus, a certain poet. He who speaks such things is ignorant of what he does, because he does not know this is a revelation of secrets.

418. He gives another example concerning what is done: an archer wishing to teach a pupil how archery is practiced shoots an arrow into something. Such a one does not know what he does because he does not know he is shooting an arrow. Then, he gives an example of ignorance concerning what, such as if a man should mistake his son for an enemy besieging his home and kill him, just as a certain woman named Merope killed her son. So, it is obvious that, in a case of this kind, a man knows what he does because he knows he kills, but he does not know the concerning what of his act, because he does not know he kills his son.

419. He then gives an example of ignorance of the instrument: when a lancer uses a piked lance that he thought was blunted, or when a thrower of rocks thinks what he throws are pumice stones.

420. Farther on, he gives an example of ignorance of the end. He says that a doctor or a blood-letter lancing a patient to make him better, or a teacher striking a pupil to correct him, may take a life. These have ignorance of the end, not indeed of what they intended, but of what followed from their action. They were ignorant that their action would lead to such an end.

421. Last, he illustrates ignorance of the manner of the action: for instance, a man thinks he is tapping with his fist to show how to hit like boxers do, but he strikes with force. Such a man strikes with force in ignorance or unknowingly.

422. At since ignorance can be, he shows how ignorance of the previously named things is a cause of the voluntary action.

First, he says that, since ignorance can be concerned with any one of the five aforementioned circumstances that concur with the action, the man who is ignorant of one of the preceding seems to act unwillingly or involuntarily. This does not apply in equal measure to all, but it does apply especially if the ignorance concerns the most important circumstances.

423. Second, at these seem to be (1111a18), he shows what he considers the most important circumstances. He says that the principal circumstances seem to be those on which the act takes place—namely, the object or the matter of the act—and that for the sake of which, the end, because acts are specified by their objects. Just as the matter is the object of the external act, so the end is the object of the internal act of the will.

424. Third, at for an action (1111a19), he says that ignorance of these very things is not enough for an involuntary action. He states that, although an action may be called involuntary according to the preceding ignorance, a further requirement is that the action be connected with sadness and repentance, as was pointed out before [408].

Definition of the Voluntary

Since the involuntary comes about on account of force and ignorance, the voluntary seems to originate within the agent who has knowledge of the circumstances of the action. [425]

Perhaps it is not accurate to call involuntary the things that are done on account of anger or sensual desire. [426]

The main reason is that neither animals nor children would then act voluntarily. [427]

Are none of the things done by reason of sensual desire or anger done voluntarily? Are the noble actions done voluntarily but the evil involuntarily? The latter view seems ridiculous, since there is one cause of all our actions. Likewise, it seems unreasonable to call involuntary the things we ought to seek. We ought to be angry under certain circumstances, and we ought to desire certain things, such as health and learning. [428]

Involuntary things seemingly are accompanied by sadness. But what is done in agreement with sensual desire seems to be done with pleasure. [429]

Further, what difference is there, from the viewpoint of involuntariness, between sins committed after reflection and sins committed on account of anger? It is our duty to avoid both. [430]

The irrational passions seem to be truly human. So too, then, are the actions of man proceeding from anger and sensual desire. It is unreasonable, therefore, to regard these as involuntary. [431]

425. Since the involuntary comes about. After the Philosopher has considered the involuntary, he next turns his attention to the voluntary.

First, he shows what the voluntary is.

Second, at perhaps it is not accurate (1111a24; [426]), he dismisses an erroneous view of it.

On the first point, we must consider that, although the term “involuntary” seems to indicate the removal of the voluntary, nevertheless the causes lead us to understand that a thing is called voluntary by reason of the removal of the things causing an involuntary action, such as violence and ignorance. Because everything is known through its cause, he gives the definition of the voluntary by taking away the cause of the involuntary. He says that, since the involuntary comes about through physical compulsion and ignorance, as has been determined previously [386], the voluntary seems to be that which the agent himself originates (thus violence is excluded) in such a way that the agent knows the individual circumstances that concur with the action. Thus, ignorance as the cause of the involuntary is excluded.

426. Then, at perhaps it is (1111a24), he rejects an error.

First, he explains it. Certain people were of the opinion that not everything that the agent originates through a knowledge of circumstances is voluntary. It can happen that the principle that is from within is not the rational appetitive faculty called the will or volition (from which the voluntary receives its name), but a passion of the sensitive appetitive faculty, such as anger, sensual desire, or something else of this kind. The Philosopher says this is not an accurate statement. It should be noted that, because the passions of the sensitive appetitive faculty are aroused by external things grasped by means of an external sense, this error seems to be of the same nature as the one he discarded previously [400–405], according to which it was indicated that external things bring about violence. It was imperative to state that, in that context, it was a question of violence, whose origin is external. But this must be treated here where it is a question of the voluntary, the principle of which is intrinsic, for the passions are within us.

427. Second, at the main reason is (1111a25), he rejects this opinion for five reasons. The first is this. Whatever irrational animals and children do they do in conformity with the affections of the sensitive faculty, and not in conformity with the rational faculty, because they lack the use of reason. If, then, the things that are done through anger, sensual desire, and the other affections of the sensitive faculty were involuntary, it would follow that neither animals nor children would act voluntarily. But agents are said to act voluntarily not because they operate under the impulse of the will, but because they operate of their own accord by their proper movement in such a way that they are not moved by any external thing. It follows, then, that things done by reason of anger or sensual desire are voluntary.

428. He gives the second reason at are none (1111a28). If the things that are done because of anger or sensual desire are not voluntary, either this is universally true or it is true of evil actions, not of good actions, such that the good actions that a person does by reason of passion he does voluntarily, but the evil actions involuntarily. The proponents of this view were probably influenced by the fact that good actions conform to and evil actions are opposed to reason. But this second supposition seems unacceptable, since the one cause of all human actions (both good and bad) is the will. A man does not rush to do whatsoever is rendered desirable by anger or sensual desire without the consent of the rational appetitive faculty. Likewise, the first supposition seems unreasonable—namely, that someone should call involuntary the good things that he ought to seek even according to passion—for the reason, by means of the will, incites to the things we ought to seek. We ought to be angry under certain conditions, such as to curb sin. Likewise, we ought to desire certain things, for example, health and learning. It remains false, then, to hold that the things done on account of passion are not voluntary.

429. He assigns the third reason at involuntary things (1111a32). It is this. Actions resulting from violence are accompanied by sadness, but those that are done in agreement with sensual desire are done with pleasure. Consequently, they are not involuntary.

430. The fourth reason given at further, what (1111a33), is this. As has been pointed out before [383, 393], voluntary faults are to be censured and avoided. This cannot be said of involuntary faults, because a man is neither able to avoid these nor censured on account of them. But, as sins that are committed after reflection—that is, with deliberation—are to be avoided and are blameworthy, so also are sins that are committed on account of anger or another passion. A man can, by means of his will, resist passion. Hence, if he does a disgraceful act because of passion, he is blamed. Therefore, they do not differ from things done by deliberation so far as they are voluntary.

431. He assigns the fifth reason at the irrational passions (1111b1). Irrational passions—namely, of the sensitive appetitive faculty—seem to be human, insofar as the sensitive appetitive faculty can obey reason, as was stated before [272]. Therefore, the actions proceeding from anger, sensual desire, and the other passions are human. But no involuntary operation is human, for neither praise nor blame are imputed to a man who acts involuntarily. Therefore, it is unreasonable to say that things done out of passion are involuntary.

Choice

After the treatise on the voluntary and the involuntary, we naturally proceed to a consideration of choice. Such a study is especially proper to virtue, for moral practices are judged by choice rather than by actions. [432]

Choice certainly is something voluntary, but choice and voluntary are not identical, for the voluntary is more extensive in range. [434]

Children and all the brutes participate in volition, but not in choice. [435]

Then, too, the things done on the spur of the moment are called voluntary, but they are not said to be done by choice. [436]

Those who say that choice is sensual desire, or anger, or wish, or opinion of some sort do not speak accurately. [437]

Choice does not belong to the brutes, but sensual desire and anger are common both to men and brutes. [438]

The incontinent man acts in conformity with sensual desire, but not in conformity with choice. But the continent man, on the contrary, acts from choice and not from sensual desire. [439]

Sensual desire is opposed to choice, but one desire is not contrary to another. [440]

Sensual desire is accompanied by pleasure or sorrow, but choice is not necessarily associated with sorrow or pleasure. [441]

There is less argument in favor of choice being anger, for the things done on account of anger do not seem to be done by choice. [442]

Choice is not identical with wishing, although it is closely connected with it. [443]

Choice is not concerned with impossibles, and if a person should say that he does choose the impossible, he will appear foolish. Wishing, on the other hand, can be directed to the impossible, for instance, to live forever. [444]

Wishing can be concerned with things not done by oneself, for instance, wishing that a man pretending to be an athlete may win, or even that a man who is really an athlete may win. No one, however, chooses these things, but only those that he thinks he can do himself. [445]

Moreover, wishing is directed rather to the end, and choice to the means. Thus, we wish health but we choose the remedies that restore us to health. Likewise, we wish to be happy, and we do say this. Yet it is not suitable to say that we elect or choose to be happy. [446]

In general, choice seems to be directed to the things that are within our power. [447]

432. After the treatise on the voluntary. After the Philosopher has treated the voluntary and the involuntary, he here makes a study of choice.

First, he gives an explanation of choice itself;

second, of counsel (which is placed in the definition of choice), at do men take counsel about all things (1112a18; [458]).

Regarding the initial point, he does two things.

First, he shows that it belongs to our present study to consider choice.

Second, at choice certainly is something (1111b6; [434]), he investigates the nature of choice.

He says first that, after the treatise [382–431] on the voluntary and the involuntary, he will undertake a passing consideration of choice. Here, then, he proposes briefly the things necessary to study choice. He proves here that it belongs to our science to consider choice, because choice seems especially proper to virtue, which is our principal concern at present.

433. Its appropriateness is clearly shown by the fact that, although both inner choice and outward action flow from the habit of virtue, virtuous or vicious practices are judged rather by choice than by outward works. Every virtuous man chooses good, but sometimes, because of some external hindrances, he does not do it. On the other hand, the vicious man sometimes performs a virtuous deed not out of virtuous choice, but out of fear, or for some unbecoming motive, such as vainglory or something else of this kind. Hence, it obviously pertains to our present purpose to consider choice.

434. Then, at choice certainly (1111b6), he shows what choice is.

First, he investigates its genus;

second, its different aspects, at those who say that choice (1111b10 [437]);

third, at what, then, is its genus (1112a13; [457]), he concludes the definition.

The voluntary is the genus of choice, because it is universally predicated of choice and of other things besides. Hence, he first says that every choice is voluntary, but choice and the voluntary are not identical, for the voluntary is more extensive. He proves this in twofold fashion.

435. The first proof he gives by the words participate in volition (1111b7). It is this. Children and the various brutes participate in volition inasmuch as, of their own accord, they do things by their own movement, as has been noted above [427]. But they do not communicate in choice, because they do not act with deliberation, which is required for choice. Therefore, the voluntary is more extensive than choice.

436. He assigns a second reason by the words then, too, the things done on the spur of the moment (1111b9). It is this. The things we do on the spur of the moment are called voluntary because their origin is within us. However, they are not said to be according to choice, because they are not done with deliberation. Therefore, the voluntary is more extensive than choice.

437. Next, at those who say (1111b10), he investigates the different aspects of choice, proving that choice differs from things with which it appears to agree. On this question, he does two things.

First, he explains his intent.

Second, at choice does not belong (1111b12), he proves it.

He says first that some philosophers have held that choice is sensual desire because both imply a movement of the appetitive faculty toward good. Others maintained that choice is anger, perhaps because, in both, there is a certain use of reason. The angry person uses reason inasmuch as he judges that an injury received deserves punishment. Still others who consider that choice is without passion ascribe choice to the rational part, either so far as concerns the appetitive faculty (saying it is wishing) or so far as it concerns perception (saying it is opinion). In these four states, all the principles of human actions are included in a simple way: reason, to which opinion belongs; the rational appetitive faculty, that is, the will; the sensitive appetitive faculty divided into the irascible, to which belongs anger, and the concupiscible, to which belong sensual desire. The Philosopher says, however, that those who hold that choice is one of these do not speak accurately.

438. At choice does not (1111b12), he proves his proposition.

He shows first that choice is not sensual desire;

second, at there is less argument (1111b18; [442]), that it is not anger;

third, at choice is not identical (1111b19; [443]), that it is not wishing;

fourth, that it is not opinion, at choice is not opinion (1111b30; [448]).

Regarding the first, he gives four reasons.

The first of these, common to sensual desire and anger, is this. Sensual desire and anger are found both among men and brutes. But choice is not met with among the brutes, as has been said [435]. Therefore, choice is neither sensual desire nor anger.

439. He gives the second reason at the incontinent man (1111b13). It is this. If choice were sensual desire, whoever acts with choice would act with sensual desire. This, however, is false, because the incontinent man acts in conformity with sensual desire, but not in conformity with choice, for he does not reasonably direct his choice because of his sensual desire. But the continent man, on the contrary, acts from choice and not from sensual desire, which he resists by choice, as will be made evident in book 7 [1443]. Therefore, choice is not the same as sensual desire.

440. He assigns the third reason at sensual desire is opposed (1111b15). It is this. Sensual desire is opposed to choice in one who is continent or incontinent. One chooses according to reason the opposite of that which the other desires according to the sensitive appetitive faculty. But the sensual desire in the one is not opposed to the sensual desire in the other, because the whole sensual desire of each one tends to the same thing, the pleasure of the senses. But this must not be understood in the sense that one desire may not be opposed to another. We do find desires of contraries, for instance, one man desires to move and another to remain in repose. Therefore, it is evident that choice is not identical with sensual desire.

441. The fourth reason, given at sensual desire is accompanied (1111b16), is this. Sensual desire is always accompanied by pleasure because of the presence of the thing desired, or by sorrow because of the absence of that thing. Every passion is followed by pleasure or sorrow, as has been pointed out in the book 2 [296]. But choice is not necessarily associated with pleasure or sorrow, for it can occur without any passion, by the judgment of reason alone. Therefore, choice is not sensual desire.

442. Then, at there is less argument (1111b18), he shows that choice is not the same as anger. As to this, he says that there is less argument in favor of choice being anger than there is for it being sensual desire. The reason is that, even according to appearances, the things done from anger do not seem to be done by choice, because, by reason of the swiftness of the movement of wrath, the actions done through anger are very sudden. Although there is some use of reason in anger—insofar as the angry person begins to attend to his reason as it judges that an injury ought to be avenged—nevertheless, he does not perfectly heed reason in determining the manner and the order of the vengeance. Hence, anger especially excludes deliberation, which is necessary for choice. But sensual desire does not act so suddenly. Hence, things done in conformity with sensual desire do not seem to be as remote from choice as do the things done out of anger.

443. Next, at choice is not identical (1111b19), he explains the difference between choice and wish.

First, he sets forth his proposition.

Second, at choice is not concerned (1111b20; [444]), he proves it.

Third, at in general, choice (1111b29; [447]), he deduces the origin of the difference between choice and wishing.

He says first that choice is not even wishing, although it seems to be closely connected with wishing. Both belong to the one power, the rational appetitive faculty, or the will. Wishing designates an act of this power related to good absolutely. But choice designates an act of the same power related to good according as it belongs to an act by which we are ordered to some good.

444. At choice is not concerned (1111b20), he proves the statement by three reasons, of which the first is this. Because choice refers to our activity, it is said that choice is not concerned with impossible things. If a person should say that he chooses something impossible, he will appear foolish. But wishing can be directed to any good, even the impossible, because it regards good absolutely. Thus, a man can wish to be immortal, an impossible thing according to the condition of this perishable life. Therefore, choice and wish are not the same.

445. He gives the second reason at wishing can be (1111b23). The wishing of someone can be concerned with things not done by himself. Thus, he who is a spectator at a duel can wish that a hypocrite—that is, a pretender playing an assumed role—may win (such as a man who comes into the ring as a boxer when he is not a boxer), or even that one who is really an athlete may win. No one, however, chooses these things that are done by another, but only those that he thinks he can do himself. Therefore, choice differs from wishing.

446. He assigns the third reason at moreover, wishing (1111b26). He says that wishing is directed rather to the end than to the means, because we wish the means on account of the end. But that for the sake of which something exists is itself greater. But choice concerns only the means, and not the end itself, because the end as already predetermined is presupposed. The means, however, are sought by us as things to be ordered to the end. Thus, we wish health principally, since it is the end of healing. But we choose the remedies by which we are restored to health. Likewise, we wish to be happy—happiness is our ultimate end—and we say we wish this. Yet it is not suitable to say that we elect or choose to be happy. Therefore, choice is not the same as wish.

447. Then, at in general, choice (1111b29), he gives the root of the whole difference to which all the previous differences in general are referred. He says that choice seems to be directed to the things that are within our power. This is the reason why it does not concern impossibles, things done by others, or the end that, for the most part, is prearranged for us by nature.

Choice and Opinion

Choice is not opinion, for opinion can concern everything—no less eternal and impossible things than things lying within our power. [448]

Then, too, opinion is divided into false and true, but not into good and bad, as is the case with choice. Perhaps there is no one who maintains that choice is generally identical with opinion. [449]

Nor is choice identical with a particular opinion. In choosing good or bad things, we are said to be good or bad, but this is not the case in forming opinions about them. [450]

We choose to accept or reject this or anything pertaining to our actions. But we have an opinion as to what a thing is or what effect it has or how it is to be used. However, accepting or rejecting something is hardly a matter of opinion. [452]

Choice is rather praised because it chooses what it ought—as it were—in the right way, while opinion is praised because it has the truth about something. [453]

We choose those things that we especially know are good. But we have an opinion about things we are not sure of. [454]

And it is not necessarily the same people who make the best choices and form true opinions. Some men form a true opinion of what is better, but on account of bad will, they do not make the right choice. [455]

Whether opinion should be said to precede choice or follow it does not matter, for we do not intend to determine this, but whether choice is identical with a particular opinion. [456]

What, then, is its genus, what its specific difference, since it is none of the things previously mentioned? Seemingly, it is a voluntary thing. However, not every voluntary thing—but certainly the deliberately intentional voluntary—is a thing chosen, for choice must be accompanied by reason and intellect. Even the name seems to imply that one thing be preferred to others. [457]

448. Choice is not opinion. After the Philosopher has shown that choice is not the same as sensual desire, nor as anger, which belongs to the sensitive appetitive faculty, nor as wishing, which belongs to the rational appetitive faculty, he here shows that choice is not the same as opinion, which pertains to reason itself.

He illustrates this point by a threefold consideration.

First, he shows that choice is not the same as opinion in general.

Second, at nor is choice (1112a1; [450]), he shows that choice is not the same as that particular opinion that concerns itself with the things we do.

Third, at whether opinion should be (1112a11; [456]), he raises a doubt (which he leaves unsolved).

He says first—this is apparent from the premises—that choice is not the same as opinion in general.

He proves the statement by two reasons, the first of which is this. Opinion can concern everything—no less eternal and impossible things than things lying within our power. But choice concerns only things within our capacity, as was just noted [447]. Therefore, choice is not the same as opinion.

449. He gives the second reason at then, too, opinion is divided (1111b33). It is this. The things that are distinguished by various reasons are said to differ and not to be the same. Opinion, however, is divided into true and false, since it pertains to the faculty of knowledge, the object of which is the truth. Opinion is not divided into good and bad, as is the case with choice, which belongs to the appetitive faculty, the object of which is the good. He concludes from this that choice is not the same as opinion in general. This is so obvious that no one affirms the contrary.

450. Then, at nor is choice (1112a1), he shows that choice is not identical with that opinion that deals with the things we do. He proves this by five reasons. The first is this. From the fact that we choose good or bad things, we are said to be such (that is, good or bad). But, from the fact that we have an opinion about good or bad things, or about true or false things, we are not said to be good or bad. Therefore, choice is not identical with opinion, which refers to eligible things.

451. The reason for this difference is that a man is not called good or bad on account of his capabilities, but on account of his actions,¹ that is, not because he is able to act well, but because he does in fact act well. When a man understands perfectly, he becomes able to act well, but he does not yet act well. Thus, one who has the habit of grammar is able by that very fact to speak correctly, but that he actually speak correctly, he must will it. The reason is that a habit is that quality by which a person acts when he wishes, as the Commentator says on De anima 3. It is obvious, then, that good will makes a man act well according to every capability or habit obedient to reason. Therefore, a man is called good simply because he has a good will. However, from the fact that he has a good intellect, he is not called good simply, but relatively good—for example, a good grammarian or a good musician. Therefore, since choice pertains to the will but opinion to the intellect, we are called good or bad by reason of choice but not by reason of opinion.

452. He gives the second reason at we choose to accept (1112a3). Choice has to do especially with our actions. We choose to accept or reject this thing, or whatever else there is that pertains to our actions. But opinion principally refers to things. We have an opinion as to what this thing is (for instance, what bread is) or what effect it has or how one must use it. Opinion, however, does not principally concern our actions, for example, that we are of an opinion about accepting or rejecting something. The reason is that our actions are particular contingent things and quickly passing. Hence, a knowledge or opinion of them is not often sought for the sake of the truth in them, but only because of something done. Therefore, choice is not identical with opinion.

453. He assigns a third reason at choice is (1112a5), which runs thus. The good of choice consists in a kind of rectitude; that is, the appetitive faculty rightly orders something to an end. This is what he means saying that choice is rather praised because it chooses what it ought, as it were in the right way, while opinion is praised because it has the truth about something. Thus, the good and perfection of choice is rectitude, but the perfection of opinion consists in truth. Things that have different perfections are themselves different. Therefore, choice is not opinion.

454. The fourth reason, given at we choose those things (1112a7), is this. Choice is accompanied by certitude, for we choose those things that we especially know are good. But opinion lacks certitude, for we have an opinion about the things we are not sure are true. Therefore, choice and opinion are not identical.

455. He assigns the fifth reason at and it is not necessarily (1112a8). If opinion and choice were identical, those who make the best choices and those who have true opinions about them would necessarily be identified. This is obviously false, however, for some men form a true opinion in general of what is better, but on account of bad will they do not choose what is better, but what is worse. Therefore, choice and opinion are not identical.

456. At whether opinion (1112a11), he raises a doubt whether opinion should be said to precede choice or follow it. He states that it does not matter for the present because we do not intend to determine the order of these things, but only whether choice is identical with a particular opinion. Nevertheless, we must know that opinion, since it pertains to the faculty of knowledge, strictly speaking, precedes choice pertaining to the appetitive faculty, which is moved by the cognoscitive power. However, it sometimes happens accidentally that opinion follows choice, such as when a person changes the opinion he formerly held on account of the affection for things he loves.

457. Then, at what, then (1112a13), he shows what choice is. He says that, since it is none of the four things previously mentioned, we must consider what it is according to its genus and what according to its specific difference. As to its genus, seemingly it is voluntary. However, not every voluntary thing is a thing chosen, as has been pointed out before [434–6], but only the deliberately intentional voluntary thing. That this difference should be given attention is clear from the fact that counsel is an act of the reason, and choice itself must be accompanied by an act of reason and intellect. The very name—meaning that one be accepted rather than another—seems to imply or signify this in a hidden way. It pertains to deliberative reason to prefer one to others.

Counsel

Do men take counsel about all things in such a way that everything is worthy of deliberation, or are some things not objects of counsel? [458]

A thing must not be called worthy of deliberation because some foolish or insane person takes counsel about it, but because men of good sense do so. [459]

No one takes counsel about eternal things (such as the whole universe or the incommensurability of the diagonal and the side of a square) [460];

things that are in motion, provided their motion is always uniform, either by necessity, or from nature, or on account of some other cause (such as the solstices and the risings of the sun) [461];

things that sometimes happen otherwise (such as droughts and rains) [462];

things that happen by chance (such as the finding of a treasure) [463];

and all human things (for instance, the Spartans do not take counsel about how the Scythians ought best to live their lives). [464]

None of these things will take place by our efforts. [464]

We do take counsel about practicable things within our power. [465]

There is no other class of things left. Seemingly the causes are nature, necessity, and chance, to which must be added the intellect and anything else causing what is done by man. Each man takes counsel about those practicable matters that can be done by him. [466]

About certain self-sufficient branches of instruction, counsel is not taken, for instance, about writing the letters of the alphabet, for there is no doubt about how the letters must be formed. But counsel is taken about whatever is determined by us. [467]

In these matters, counsel is not always taken in the same way, for instance, in regard to things pertaining to the art of medicine, to business, and to navigation. In all these—inasmuch as they are less certain—we take more counsel than in gymnastics. The same is to be understood of other arts. [468]

It is more necessary to take counsel in the arts than in the sciences, for more doubts arise in the arts. [469]

Counsel has to concern things occurring more frequently. [470]

It must concern uncertain things where it has not been determined in what way they will come to pass. [471]

We invite counsellors in matters of importance, not trusting ourselves as capable of coming to a decision. [472]

458. Do men take counsel about all things. After the Philosopher has finished the treatise on choice, he here takes up the question of counsel.

First, he treats counsel in itself;

second, at the objects of counsel (1113a2; [483]), he treats it in comparison with choice.

On the initial point, he does two things.

First, he shows the things about which counsel ought to be taken;

second, at we do not take counsel about ends (1112b11; [473]), he treats the method and order of taking counsel.

He handles the first consideration in two steps.

First, he puts forward his proposition;

second, he executes it at no one takes counsel (1112a21; [460]).

In regard to this, first he also does two things.

First, he proposes the question he intends to treat: should men take counsel about all things in such a way that everything is worthy of deliberation, or are some things not objects of counsel?

459. Second, at a thing must not (1112a19), he explains the proposed question with the observation that a thing is not said to be worthy of deliberation from the fact that sometimes counsel is taken in the matter by some foolish person who perversely uses his reason, or by an insane person entirely lacking the use of reason. But something is deemed worthy of deliberation inasmuch as men with good sense do deliberate about it. Men of this type take counsel only about things that of their nature require careful consideration and that are properly said to be worthy of deliberation. Foolish people sometimes deliberate even about things where no counsel is required.

460. Then, at no one takes counsel (1112a21), he shows where counsel should function:

first, by distinguishing things according to their own causes;

second, at about certain (1112a34; [467]), by distinguishing things according to every cause;

third, at counsel has to concern (1112b7; [470]), by distinguishing things according to the qualities of the things themselves.

On the first point, he does three things.

First, he shows where counsel is unnecessary;

second, at we do take counsel (1112a30; [465]), he infers the areas with which counsel does deal;

third, at there is no other class (1112a31; [466]), he shows that the conclusion follows from the premises.

In regard to the first one, five considerations require his attention.

First, he says that no one takes counsel about eternal things, that is, about things existing always and without motion. Examples of this sort are either those the substances of which are not subject to motion (as separated substances and the whole universe itself) or those that, even though they exist in movable matter, nevertheless are separated from such matter according to reason, such as mathematical entities. Hence, he gives the example of the diagonal of a square and its rib or side—no one takes counsel about the commensurability of such things.

461. Next, at things that are in motion (1112a23), he says that no one takes counsel even about things that are in action provided that their motion is always uniform. This uniformity of motion may be either of necessity, and not by reason of any other cause (as are those things which are of themselves necessary), or from the nature of movable bodies, or through the agency of some separated cause such as immaterial substances, movers of the heavenly bodies, about which he speaks here. Hence, he takes an example from the revolutions or circular motions of the sun and its risings, and so forth.

462. Third, at things that sometimes (1112a26), he says that deliberation is unnecessary about things in motion and that usually follow the same pattern, even though sometimes, in a minor number of cases, they happen otherwise. Such are the droughts that generally occur in summer and the rains that commonly fall in winter; although this may at times vary.

463. Fourth, at things that happen (1112a27), he says that counsel is not taken about things that happen by chance, such as the finding of a treasure. Just as the things spoken of above [461–2] do not depend on our action, so things happening by chance cannot depend upon our forethought, because they are unforeseen and beyond our control.

464. Fifth, at all human things (1112a28), he says that, as men do not take counsel about necessary, natural, and fortuitous things, so neither do they take counsel about all human things. Thus, the Spartans do not take counsel about how the Scythians—who dwell a long way from them—ought best to live their lives.

He then subjoins a common reason valid in all the aforementioned cases when he says, none of these things will take place (1112a29), because none of these things that are necessary or natural or fortuitous or done by other men take place by reason of our efforts.

465. Then, at we do take counsel (1112a30), he concludes as it were from the premises about the proper field for counsel. He says that men take counsel about practicable things within us, that is, in our power. Counsel is ordered to action.

466. Next, at there is no other class (1112a31), he shows that this follows from the premises because, besides the things just mentioned about which it has been indicated that counsel does not apply, there remain these situations within us on whose behalf counsel is required. He proves his contention by separating the causes. Seemingly there are four causes of things: nature, which is the principle of motion either in the case of things always moved in the same way or in the case of things for the most part preserving uniform motion; necessity, which is the cause of things existing always in the same way without motion; fortune, an accidental cause outside the intention of the agent; and chance, which is included under fortune. Besides these causes, there is the intellect and whatever else is man’s agent, as the will, the senses, and other principles of this kind. This cause is different in different men, such that each takes counsel about those practicable matters that can be done by him. From this, it follows that counsel is not taken about things done by other causes, as already noted [464].

467. At about certain (1112a34), he shows about what subjects counsel can be taken in the creative arts, according to which we do what is within our power.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows where in the arts counsel is taken and where it is unnecessary. He says that those creative arts that have a fixed mode of procedure and are self-sufficient to the extent that what is done rests on nothing extrinsic do not require counsel, as writing the letters of the alphabet. The reason for this is that we deliberate only about doubtful matters. And there is no doubt about how a letter should be formed, because there is a fixed method of writing that is not doubtful and the written work depends only on the art and hand of the scribe. But counsel is taken about those situations in which we must fix for ourselves in advance how to proceed, since they are not certain and determined in themselves.

468. Second, at in these matters (1112a37), he shows that, in these matters, counsel is not taken in the same way, but that some cases require more deliberation and others less.

First, he explains this difference among the creative arts themselves. He states that, in those cases in which we have the final say, we do not always take counsel in the same way, that is, with equal deliberation. We deliberate more about some things that are less certain and in which we must take into consideration more external things: in the art of medicine we must be mindful of the natural strength of the sick person; in business, we must assess the needs of men and the supply of goods; and in navigation, we must take into account the winds. In all these, we take more counsel than in gymnastics, namely, the arts of wrestling and exercising that have more fixed and determined methods. According as the previously mentioned arts are less settled, by so much must we take more counsel in them. The same must be understood of other arts.

469. Second, at it is more necessary (1112b6), he shows the difference relative to the necessity of counsel in the creative arts and in the speculative sciences. He indicates that counsel is more necessary in the arts (the practicable) than in the sciences (the speculative). In the latter, deliberation occurs not in regard to their subject matter—for these exist necessarily or by nature—but as regards the use of these things, such as how and in what order we are to proceed in the sciences. In this, however, counsel is less mandatory than in the practical sciences, about which we have more doubts because of the great variety occurring in these skills.

470. Then, at counsel has to (1112b7), by considering the qualities of the things themselves, he shows about which things counsel ought to be taken. On this point, he puts forward three qualities of things with which counsel deals.

First, he says that counsel has to do with things that occur more frequently. However, because they can happen otherwise, it is uncertain in what way they may take place. If a man should wish to deliberate about things that rarely happen—for instance, about the possible collapse of a stone bridge over which he must pass—he will never get anything done.

471. Second, at it must concern (1112b8), he says that counsel must attend to those situations in which no determination has yet been made of their outcome. A judge does not take counsel about how he ought to pass sentence on the cases stated in the law, but rather about cases in which something is not determined in the law.

472. Third, at we invite counsellors (1112b10), he says that we take others into our confidence for advice in things of importance, as if we did not acknowledge our own capability of deciding what we ought to do. Thus, it is obvious that counsel ought not to be taken about trifling things of every kind, but only about things of importance.

Method and Order of Taking Counsel

We do not take counsel about ends, only about means. A doctor does not deliberate about whether he will cure a patient; an orator does not deliberate about whether he will persuade people; a statesman does not deliberate about whether he will achieve peace. Neither does any other agent take counsel about his end. [473]

But, having taken the end for granted, they will deliberate on how and by what means it may be achieved; when the end is attainable in several ways, by which of these it can be most effectively and most easily attained; when the end is attainable by one means only, how it will be attained through this means; and how this means itself will be attained, until they arrive at the first cause, which will be the last in the order of discovery. [475]

One who takes counsel seems to inquire and to resolve by the method mentioned, as by a diagram. It seems that not every inquiry is a taking of counsel—for instance, a mathematical inquiry—but every taking of counsel is a kind of inquiry. What is last in resolution is first in the order of production. [476]

If those taking counsel find the thing to be done is impossible, they give up the project, for instance, if they need money that cannot be provided. But, if the thing to be done seems practicable, they begin to act. Things are called possible that can be done by us; what our friends do is done in some way by us, for the origin of their action lies in ourselves. [477]

At times, we inquire about what instruments may be used, and at times about the way we ought to use them. It is the same in the other cases, for sometimes we investigate the means of doing a thing, sometimes we inquire how or why it is to be done. [478]

As has been previously stated, it would seem that man originates his own actions and counsel is taken about the things that can be done by him. [479]

Actions are performed for the sake of other things. Counsel, therefore, is not taken about the end, but the means to the end. [480]

We do not deliberate about particular things, for instance, whether this thing is bread, or whether the bread is properly prepared or properly baked. This belongs to sense perception. If a man goes on deliberating forever, he will never come to an end. [481]

473. We do not take counsel about ends. After the Philosopher has shown about what things counsel is taken, he here treats the method and order of taking counsel. Because counsel is a kind of inquiry, he does three things concerning it.

First, he shows the method of deliberative inquiry;

second, at if those taking counsel (1112b24; [477]), he shows its effect;

third, at as has been previously stated (1112b31; [479]), he determines the limit of this inquiry.

On the initial point, he does two things.

First, he proposes a method of deliberation.

Second, at one who takes counsel (1112b20; [476]), he explains his statement.

Counsel is a practical deliberation about things to be done. Hence, as in a speculative inquiry, where principles are necessarily taken for granted and certain other things are sought, so also should it be with counsel.

Therefore, he shows first what is taken for granted regarding counsel.

Second, at but having taken (1112b15; [475]), he shows what is the objective in taking counsel.

474. We must consider that, in practicable things, the end holds the place of the principle, because the necessity of practicable things depends on the end, as has been mentioned in the Physics.¹ On this account, we must take the end for granted. This is what he means when he says that we do not take counsel about ends but about the means to the end. Thus, in speculative matters, we do not inquire about the principles, but about the conclusions. He clarifies what he has said by examples: a doctor does not deliberate about whether he ought to cure a patient, but this is taken for granted as an end; an orator does not deliberate on whether he ought to persuade people, for he intends this as an end; a statesman or a ruler of the state does not deliberate over whether he ought to achieve peace, which is compared to the state as health to the human body (health consists in the harmony of the humors as peace consists in the harmony of wills). Neither does any other agent take counsel about the end in this way.

475. Then, at but, having taken the end for granted (1112b15), he shows about what and how deliberative inquiry should be made.

He introduces three things concerning this.

The first of these is that, having taken the end for granted, the primary intention of the one taking counsel is how (that is, by what motion or action) he can attain that end, and by what means he must move or work toward the end, as by horse or ship.

His second intention is—when he can attain some end by several things, either instruments or actions—to know by which of these he can better and more easily achieve his goal. This pertains to judgment in finding ways to the end, in which some men are at times deficient.

His third intention is—if it should happen that the end can be attained by one means or motion alone, or most aptly by a particular means—that the end be procured in such a way that it is reached through this means. For this, perseverance and care are necessary. If the means for attaining the end should not be at hand, we must inquire how it can be gained and so on until we arrive at a cause that holds first place in operating (this will be last in the order of discovery).

476. Next, at one who (1112b20), he further clarifies his statement by its likeness to speculative inquiry. He says that the cause that is first in operation is the last in the order of discovery, because one who deliberates seems to inquire, as was just pointed out [473], by some analytic method, just as he who wishes to prove a conclusion by a diagram or a geometrical explanation must resolve the conclusion into principles until he reaches the first indemonstrable principles. All counsel is an investigation—that is, a kind of inquiry—although not every investigation or inquiry is counsel; for example, an inquiry in mathematics is not. Only an inquiry about practicable things is counsel. Because the man who takes counsel inquires in an analytic manner, his inquiry must lead to that which is the principle in operation. The reason is that what is last in analysis is first in production or activity.

477. At if those taking counsel (1112b24), he shows the effect of counsel.

First, he exposes his proposition.

Second, he explains certain things that were said by the words at times we inquire.

He says first that, if those taking counsel, on reaching the point in the deliberative inquiry where the first operation must be done, find this impossible, they give up—that is, dismiss the whole matter as if without hope of success. For example, if, in order to carry out a business venture, a man needs money to pay certain persons and he cannot pay it, he must abandon the project. But, if it is apparent that what was discovered by means of counsel is possible, operation begins immediately, for as was just mentioned [476], the point at which the analytic inquiry of counsel ends must be the beginning of operation. A thing is said to be possible to an agent not only through his own power but also through the power of others. Hence, things done by friends are enumerated by him among possibles because what our friends do is done in some way by us, inasmuch as the principle of the work is found in us, for they themselves do this in consideration of us.

478. Then, when he says, at times we inquire (1112b28), he explains his previous statement: the kinds of things that, upon investigation, we sometimes find possible and sometimes impossible. At times, he says, by counsel we inquire about instruments, such as a horse or a sword, and at times we inquire about the need or suitability of the instruments, that is, how we ought to use them. It is the same in the other arts: sometimes we seek the means of doing a thing, and sometimes we inquire how or why (these belong to the end just mentioned).

479. Next, at as has been previously stated (1112b31), he determines the limit or status of the deliberative inquiry. He does this under three headings.

First, on the part of the agent himself. Hence, he says that, as has been previously stated [292], man is the principle of his activity. Every individual takes counsel about the things that can be done by him. For this reason, when he arrives in the deliberative inquiry at what he himself can achieve, at that point, counsel ceases.

480. Second, at actions are (1112b32), he shows that counsel has a limit or condition on the part of the end. All operations, he says, are performed for the sake of other things, that is, ends. Hence, counsel is not taken about the end, but about the means to the end. Evidently, then, there is a limit in deliberative inquiry (both on the part of the end and on the part of the agent) as in demonstrations (both from above and below) as it were on the part of either extreme.

481. Third, at we do not (1112b33), he shows the status of deliberative inquiry on the part of particular instruments that we use in our operations as available means for arriving at the end. He says that we do not deliberate about particular things, such as whether what is set before us is bread or whether it is properly prepared, that is, baked or made as it should be. This belongs to sense perception.

482. That the status of counsel—as also of demonstration—is according to these three considerations is proved by an argument leading to an impossible conclusion. If a man would always be taking counsel, he would be reaching to infinity, which does not fall under the consideration of the reason, and consequently not under counsel, which is a kind of inquiry belonging to reason, as has been pointed out [476].

A Comparison Between Counsel and Choice

The objects of counsel and of choice are the same, but the object of choice has already been determined by counsel. [483]

What was previously judged by means of counsel is an object of choice. Every individual inquiring how he is going to act ceases from counsel when he reduces the principle back to himself and this into what is to be done first. It is this that is chosen. [484]

Our point is also brought out by the ancient political procedure delineated by Homer, who presents the Greek kings as proclaiming their decisions to the people. [485]

Since the object of choice is one of the things considered by counsel as desirable and within our power, choice will be a desire (arising by reason of counsel) for the things that are in our power. When we have formed a judgment by taking counsel, we desire a thing in accordance with our deliberation. [486]

Choice has now been defined according to type and in a general way, and not as is customary according to a full explanation. It has been stated of what nature the things are with which choice deals and that choice is concerned with things which are ordered to end. [487]

483. The objects of counsel and of choice. After the Philosopher has considered counsel in itself, he now treats counsel in comparison with choice.

A twofold procedure clarifies this point.

First, he compares counsel with choice.

Second, at since the object of choice (1113a9; [486]), he concludes from this what choice is.

In regard to the initial point, he does two things.

First, he introduces his proposition;

second, at what was previously judged (1113a4; [484]), he proves it.

First, he compares counsel with choice in two ways. One way is relative to the object or matter of each where they are in agreement. Touching on this, he says that an object of counsel and an object of choice are the same because both counsel and choice deal with things that act for an end. The other way is relative to the order of each. Touching on this, he says that, when something has already been decided by means of counsel, then it is first chosen—counsel preceding choice as it were.

484. Then, at what was (1113a4), he explains what he has said by a reason taken from his previous observations [473–84] about counsel. The decision of counsel, he says, precedes choice, for after the inquiry of counsel, a judgment concerning the things discovered must follow. Then, what was previously judged is first chosen. He shows clearly that the judgment of the reason should follow the investigation of counsel by the fact that every individual who inquires by taking counsel how he ought to act ceases from deliberation when, by analyzing his investigation, he is led to what he himself can do. If he can do several things, then, when he reduces them to the preceding—that is, to what he considers should be done first—this is what is chosen, namely, what presents itself to be done first. Hence, it remains that choice presupposes the decision of counsel.

485. Second, at our point is also brought out (1113a7), he proves his view by an example. That choice ought to follow the decision of counsel is brought out by the regal procedure of old, that is, by the custom of ancient states according to which kings did not possess dictatorial power over the multitude so that they could do whatever they wished, but were guides of the citizens, to whom it belonged to choose the things decided by the kings in counsel. For that reason, he says that the kings of old declared to the people the things they themselves had chosen by the decision of their counsel so that the people might choose what had been determined. Homer followed this by presenting the Greek rulers as proclaiming to the people what they had decided in counsel.

486. Next, at since the object (1113a9), he shows from the premises what choice is. He says that, since an object of choice is simply one of the number of the things that is within our power and that is considered by means of counsel, it follows that choice is only a desire (arising by reason of counsel) for things in our power. Choice is an act of the rational appetitive faculty called the will. On this account, he said that choice is a deliberating desire, inasmuch as, through counsel, a man arrives at a judgment regarding the things that were discovered by means of counsel. This desire is choice.

487. Last, at choice has now (1113a12), he shows of what nature this definition of choice is. He says that choice has now been defined by type—that is, in outline—and not as he customarily determines a thing through a full explanation, that is, giving a definition and then investigating each element of it. But the definition of choice has been given in a general way. It has been stated [486] of what nature the things are with which choice deals, namely, things in our power. Also it has been said that choice is concerned with things that are ordered to ends—about these, too, counsel treats.

The Object of Willing

As was stated before, willing is concerned with the end. [488]

To some, it seems that willing has for its object what is of itself good, but to others, what is apparently good. [489]

For those who say the object of willing is what is good of itself, it follows that that thing is not an object of willing that a person does not rightly will. If something were an object of willing, it would be good. But what is to prevent a man from wishing some thing evil? [490]

On the other hand, for those who say the object of willing is apparent good, there is no such thing as a natural object of willing but only what appears so to each man. But different and sometimes contrary things seem to be objects of willing for different men. [491]

If these conclusions are not acceptable, then it must be said that, in an absolute or true sense, it is the good that is the object of willing, but for each man, it is the apparent good. [492]

For the good man, that thing is an object of willing that is truly good; for the vicious man, that thing is an object of willing that seems pleasing to him. Thus, when men are in good bodily health, those things are healthful that are such in reality, but for men who are ill, it is otherwise. The same applies to bitter, sweet, warm, and heavy things and to others of this kind. [493]

The virtuous person correctly passes judgment on each individual thing, and in each case, what appears to him is truly good. Those things which are proper to each habit seem pleasurable to it. The good man perhaps is much different in his capacity to see what is truly good in individual matters, being as it were a norm and measure of these things. [494]

Many men are apparently deceived because of pleasure. What is not good seems good, so they desire as good the pleasurable and seek to avoid the painful as evil. [495]

488. As was stated before, willing is concerned. After the Philosopher has finished the treatise on the voluntary and on choice, he here begins the study of willing.

He initiates his discussion by three stages.

First, he takes notes of what is obvious about willing.

Second, at to some, it seems (1113a16; [489]), he raises a doubt.

Third, at if these conclusions (1113a22; [492]), he solves the doubt.

First, he restates what he has previously insisted on [466], that willing is concerned with the end itself. He speaks here of willing as it denotes the act of the faculty of the will. The act of any faculty is named from the faculty itself and regards that to which the faculty primarily and of itself tends. Thus, the act of the visive faculty is called vision in relation to visible things. In this manner, understanding is named in relation to first principles that, of themselves, are referred primarily to the intellective faculty. Hence, also willing is properly said to concern ends themselves that, as certain principles, the faculty of the will primarily and of itself regards.

489. Then, at to some, it seems (1113a16), he raises a doubt. Regarding it, he does three things.

First, he sets forth contrary opinions about willing. He says that, to some, it seems that willing has for its object what is of itself good, but to others, what is apparently good.

490. Second, at for those who say (1113a17), he disproves the first opinion, stating that, for those who say that only the good in itself is the object of willing (that is, to which the will tends), it follows that that thing that a person does not rightly will is not an object of willing. The reason is that, according to their opinion, it would follow that, if something were an object of willing, it would be good, but it happens sometimes that it is evil. Therefore, willing does not always have real good as its object.

491. Third, at on the other hand (1113a20), he disproves the second opinion, stating that, for those who say the object of willing is apparent good, it follows that there is no natural object of willing, but for each one, the object of willing is what seems so to him. But, for different men, different and sometimes contrary things seem to be the object of willing. Thus, if color were not visible, but only what seemed to be color were visible, it would follow that nothing would be by nature visible. This, however, would not be fitting, for every natural faculty has some object determined by its nature. Therefore, it is not true that the object of willing is apparent good.

492. At if these conclusions (1113a22), he solves the aforementioned doubt.

First, he gives a solution according to a certain distinction. He says that, if these disagreeable conclusions following from both these opinions are unacceptable, we must answer with a distinction that what seems good to a man is desirable either without qualification or under some aspect, that is, in relation to this or that.

493. Second, at for the good man (1113a25), he shows with whom both parts of this distinction agree. He says that, for the good man, that thing is an object of willing that is truly worthy of being willed, that is, good in itself. But, for the wicked or vicious man, that thing is the object of willing that attracts him, that is, whatever seems pleasing to himself. He exemplifies this in things of the body. We see that, for men whose bodies are in good health, those things are healthful that are really so. But for the sick, certain other things are healthful, namely, those that moderate their diseased condition. Likewise, things really bitter and sweet seem bitter and sweet to those who have a healthy taste, and things really warm seem warm to those who have a normal sense of touch. Those who have normal bodily strength properly estimate the weight of objects; those who are weak think light objects heavy.

494. Third, at the virtuous person (1113a29), he explains what he said, first as it affects virtuous men. He says that the virtuous person correctly passes judgment on individual things that pertain to human activity. In each case, what is really good seems to him to be good. This happens because the things that seem naturally pleasurable to each habit are those that are proper to it, those that agree with it. Those things are agreeable to the habit of virtue that are in fact good, because the habit of moral virtue is defined by what is in accord with right reason. Thus, the things in accord with right reason—things of themselves good—seem good to it. Here the good man differs very much indeed from others, for he sees what is truly good in individual practicable matters, being as it were the norm and measure of all that is to be done, for in these cases, a thing must be judged good or bad according as it seems to him.

495. Next, at many men (1113a33), he explains what he said as it affects vicious men. He says that, for many, the vicious, deception in the distinction between good and evil occurs especially because of pleasure. As a consequence of this, it happens that they desire as good the pleasurable, which is not good, and seek to avoid as evil what is for them painful but in itself good. The explanation is that they do not follow reason but the senses.

Virtue and Vice Are Within Our Power

Since willing regards the end, but counsel and choice the means to the end, the actions concerning these means will be in accordance with choice and voluntary. But virtuous actions deal with the means. Virtue, then, is within our power. [496]

For a similar reason, vice is voluntary. If it is in our power to act, it is also in our power not to act, and contrariwise. Therefore, if to do good is in our power, then not to do evil will also be in our power. If not to do good is in our power, then to do evil will also be in our power. [497]

If it is in our power to do and likewise not to do good or evil actions (by reason of this, men become good or evil), it will be within our power to be virtuous or vicious. [499]

It is said that no one is voluntarily evil and that no one is unwillingly happy. The first statement is really false, and the second true. In fact, no person will be happy unwillingly. Vice, on the other hand, is a voluntary thing. [500]

Must we dispute even about what has now been said and hold that man is not the principle and begetter of his actions just as he is father of his children? [501]

If these things (counsel, choice, and willing) seem to be principles of our actions and we cannot reduce them into principles other than those within our power, then also our actions, the principles of which are under our control, will themselves be in our power and voluntary. [502]

This view seems to be supported by the testimony of private individuals and of legislators themselves, for legislators punish and chastise evildoers, unless these do evil by compulsion or on account of an ignorance of which they themselves were not the cause. Likewise, legislators decree honors for those who do good, thus encouraging them, as it were, but restraining the others. No one persuades a man to do whatever things are not in his power and not voluntary, for before it takes place, it is of no use to persuade a man not to become hot, or afflicted, or hungry, or anything whatsoever of this kind. We will suffer these things nonetheless. [503]

A man who is ignorant will be punished if he is the cause of his ignorance. A drunken man, for instance, is worthy of double punishment. The beginning is within him because he has it in his power not to get drunk. And his intoxication is the cause of his ignorance. Legislators punish those who are ignorant of things stated in the law that they should have known, but not those who are ignorant of the difficult things. Likewise, in other cases, we punish people whenever it seems that their ignorance was due to negligence, because it is in their power not to be ignorant. They have it in their power to inform themselves. [505]

496. Since willing regards the end. After the Philosopher has treated the voluntary, choice, counsel, and willing, which are principles of human acts, he here applies what has been said to vices and virtues.

Concerning this question, he does three things.

First, he determines the truth;

second, at it is said that no one (1113b14; [500]), he rejects an error;

third, at we have discussed virtues (1114b26; [526]), he concludes with a summary of what has been said about virtue.

On the first point, he does three things.

First, on the basis of his previous discussion, he shows that virtue is within us, that is, in our power.

Second, at for a similar reason (1113b6; [497]), he shows the same about vice.

Third, at if it is in our power (1113b11; [499]), he shows the reason for this necessary consequence.

He says first that, since willing regards the end, but counsel and choice the means to the end, it follows that actions concerning this (namely, the means to the end) are in accordance with choice and are consequently voluntary. The reason is that choice is a voluntary thing, as was indicated before [434–6, 457]. But virtuous actions deal with the aforementioned means and are voluntary. Consequently, virtue itself must be voluntary and within us, that is, in our power.

497. Then, at for a similar reason (1113b6), he shows the same thing about badness, that is, about vice as opposed to virtue. He says that badness is likewise voluntary and within us because its operations are of this kind. He proves this in the following way: if the capacity to act is within us, then the capacity not to act must also be in our power. If the capacity not to act were not in our power, it would be impossible that we would not act. Therefore, it would be necessary that we act, and so the capacity to act would not come from, us but from necessity.

498. Similiarly, it should be said that, whenever we have the power not to act, then we also have the power to act. For, if action were not in our power, then it would be impossible for us to act. Therefore, we would necessarily not act, and thus the inaction would not be from us, but from necessity. As a consequence, we must conclude that, wherever affirmation is within our power, negation is also (and conversely). Virtuous and vicious actions differ according to affirmation and negation. For instance, if honoring one’s parents is good and an act of virtue, then not to honor one’s parents is evil and pertains to vice. If not to steal pertains to virtue, then to steal pertains to vice. Hence, it follows that, if the operation of virtue is within us, as has been proved [496], then the operation of vice also is within us. So consequently, vice itself is within us, that is, in our power.

499. Next, at if it is (1113b11), he assigns the reason for this necessary inference: if the operations are within us, the habits are also within us. He says that, if it is in our power to do or not to do good or evil actions, as has now been shown [497–8], while man becomes good or evil by reason of the fact that he works or does not work good or evil, as was pointed out in the second book [250–3], then it follows that it is within our power to be virtuous—that is, good in conformity with the habit of virtue, and vicious in conformity with the habit of vice.

500. At it is said (1113b14), he rejects an error about the aforementioned teaching.

First, he removes the error itself.

Second, at perhaps such a person (1114a3; [507]), he removes its roots.

On the first point, his division is threefold.

First, he explains his rejection of the error.

Second, at must we dispute even about what (1113b17; [501]), he raises a doubt over this.

Third, at if these things (1113b19; [502]), he determines the truth.

In regard to the first, we must consider that some have held that no one is voluntarily evil, nor is anyone unwillingly happy or good. They say this because the will of itself tends to good. Good is what all desire, and consequently the will of itself seeks to avoid evil. He says, therefore, that one of these statements is in all likelihood false—that no one is willingly evil—since vice is something voluntary. The other seems to be true, that no one is unwillingly good and happy.

501. Then, at must we dispute (1113b17), he raises a doubt about things said before. If it is true that virtuous and vicious actions (and consequently virtue and vice) are voluntary, obviously what has presently been said is true. But is there anyone who believes there should be a doubt about what has been said, such that he might say that a man is not the principle and begetter of his actions, just as a father is the principle of his children? He as much as says, “that anyone would say this is to be wondered at.”

502. Next, at if these things (1113b19; [502]), he confirms the truth.

First by reason.

Second, at this view seems (1113b21; [503]), by signs.

He says first that, if counsel, choice, and willing—which are in our power—are seen as principles of our actions and we cannot reduce our actions to principles other than those that are in our power (namely, counsel and choice), then it follows that our good and bad actions are within our power. Because their principles are in our power, they themselves are in our power, and hence are voluntary.

503. At this view seems (1113b21), he explains his proposition by means of signs.

First, in the things that are clearly voluntary.

Second, at a man who is ignorant (1113b30; [505]), in the things that seem to have something of the involuntary.

He says first that the particular things that are done by individual private persons seem to bear witness to what has been said, that virtuous and vicious actions are within our power. Any father of a family punishes a child or a servant who does wrong. Likewise, the things that are done by legislators, who care for the welfare of the state, bear witness. They give sometimes give a light sentence to criminals, but other times a heavy one, provided, however, the wrongdoers do not act under coercion or through ignorance (of which they are not the cause). If they acted by compulsion or ignorance, their acts would not be voluntary, as is evident from what was said before [400–405]. Hence, it is clear that they were punished as acting voluntarily.

504. Likewise, legislators decree honors for those who voluntarily do good: encouraging, as it were, the virtuous to good deeds by means of honors, and restraining the vicious from evil by means of punishments. No one encourages a man to do the things that are not in his power and not voluntary, for in such matters, encouragement before the act is entirely useless. It is useless, for instance, to urge a man in summer not to be hot, or in sickness not to be afflicted, or not to be hungry when there is no food, or to do anything beyond his power. The reason is that he would suffer these things notwithstanding encouragement. If, therefore, we are not urged to do the things that are not within our power, but are urged to do good and avoid evil, then such things are in our power.

505. Then, at a man who is (1113b30), he manifests the same truth in those things that seem to have something of the involuntary. Ignorance causes an involuntary action, as was explained before [406–24]. If, however, we are the cause of the ignorance, the ignorance will be voluntary and we will be punished for it. A man can be the cause of his own ignorance in two ways. In one way directly, by doing something, as is evident in those who get drunk and for this reason are rendered ignorant. These should be doubly blamed: first, because they drank too much; second, because they committed a sinful deed in their drunkenness. The principle of drunkenness is in the man himself because he has the power to remain sober, and his drunkenness is the cause of his ignorance. Accordingly, in this way, a man is the cause of ignorance.

506. In the other way, a man is the cause of ignorance indirectly by reason of the fact that he does not do what he ought to do. On account of this, ignorance of the things a man can and is bound to know is considered voluntary, and therefore he is punished for it. This is why he says that legislators punish those who are ignorant of laws everyone ought to know (as that which forbids stealing), but not those who are ignorant of laws that are difficult to know and that not all are bound to know (because it is not possible). The same is true of those things that men do not know apparently by reason of negligence, because they could have learned. They are masters of themselves, and they can be diligent and not negligent.

Refutation of the Opinion That No One Is Voluntarily Evil

Perhaps such a person is naturally not diligent. [507]

But men make themselves negligent by living carelessly, and unjust and incontinent by doing evil to others and spending their time in drinking and such things. [508]

A man’s outlook depends on the way he exercises his powers. This is clearly manifest in the case of those who devote their attention to some exercise or activity. They perfect themselves by constant practice. It seems, then, that only a man lacking understanding would be ignorant that habits are produced by individual actions. [511]

Moreover, it is unreasonable to assert that a man who does unjust actions does not wish to be unjust, or that one who perpetrates seductions does not wish to be incontinent. If one knowingly does those things from which it follows that he is unjust, he will be voluntarily unjust. [512]

Because a person becomes unjust voluntarily, it does not follow that he will cease to be unjust and become just whenever he wishes. One who is sick does not become well in this way. So too it is with a man who voluntarily becomes sick by living immoderately and disregarding the doctor’s advice. Before, it was within his power not to become sick, but having placed the cause, the effect is no longer within his power, just as one who throws a stone has not the power to take back the throwing. Nevertheless, it is within a man’s power to cast or throw a stone, because the original act was under his control. So it is also with the unjust and the incontinent who, in the beginning, had the power not to become like this. For this reason, they are voluntarily unjust and incontinent, although after they have become such, it is no longer within their power not to be such. [513]

Not only are vices of the soul voluntary, but also defects of the body in certain men whom we justly reproach. No one reproaches those who are born ugly, but only those who are so because of slothfulness and carelessness. The same is true with weakness, disgrace, and blindness. No one justly taunts a man who is blind from birth or disease or a wound, but he is rather shown sympathy. But everyone does reproach a man blind because of excessive drinking of wine or other incontinence. Men are reproached for those vices and bodily defects that are within our power, but not for those beyond our control. This being so, in other things, the vices we are blamed for must be within our power. [514]

507. Perhaps such a person. After the Philosopher has rejected the error of those who hold that no one is voluntarily evil, he now removes the roots of this error:

first, in regard to the internal disposition by reason of which (contrary to his own will) someone can tend to evil;

second, at someone may say (1114a32; [515]), in the matter of the faculty of knowledge by which a thing is judged good or bad.

He handles the first point in two steps.

First, he proposes that which one can depend on in support of the preceding error.

Second, at but men make themselves (1114a4; [5-8]), he disproves this.

The Philosopher has stated [506] that it is in the power of man to be diligent or negligent about something. But someone could deny this, saying that some person is naturally not diligent. Thus, we see that men with phlegmatic temperaments are naturally lazy, that men with choleric temperaments are naturally irascible, that men with melancholic temperaments are naturally sad, and that men with sanguine temperaments are naturally joyful. According to this, it is not within man’s power to be diligent.

508. Then, at but men make (1114a4), he rules out what was just said. To understand this, we must consider that a man can be said to be “of a particular bent” in two ways.

In one way, according to bodily disposition, following either the temperament of the body or the influence of the heavenly bodies. By reason of this disposition, there can be no direct change of the intellect or will, which are faculties altogether incorporeal, not using a bodily organ, as is made clear by the Philosopher in De anima.¹ But, by this type of disposition, some change can follow in the sensitive appetitive faculty, which does use a bodily organ, the movements of which are the passions of the soul. Accordingly, from such a disposition there is no more movement of the reason and will (which are principles of human acts) than from the passions of the soul; concerning these, it was likewise pointed out in book 1 [241] that they are susceptible of persuasion by the reason.

The other disposition is on the part of the soul. This is a habit by means of which the will or reason is inclined in operation.

509. On this account, the Philosopher, having passed over the dispositions or qualities of the body, treats only the disposition of habits. On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows that habits of the soul according to which a man is negligent or unjust are voluntary from the fact that he is censured on account of them.

Second, at not only vices of the soul (1114a21; [514]), he indicates that even bodily defects that are blameworthy are voluntary.

Regarding the first, he does two things.

First, he indicates that habits of the soul are voluntary with respect to their formation.

Second, he shows that they are not voluntary after their formation has already been completed.

Touching on the first, he does two things.

First, he brings forward his proposition.

Second, at a man’s outlook (1114a7; [511]), he proves it.

510. We must consider that evil habits differ as evil acts do. Some habits are evil from the fact that they withdraw a man from doing good. With respect to habits of this kind, he says that men are the cause of their own evil lives, for they are not diligent in doing good; they live carelessly without attempting good works. Other habits are evil because, through them, a man is inclined to do evil, whether this brings about the injury of others or one’s own disordered condition. With respect to these, he says men by their own volition are the reason why they are unjust inasmuch as they do evil to others and incontinent inasmuch as they live their lives in unnecessary drinking and in other things of this kind that pertain to the pleasures of touch.

511. Next, at a man’s outlook (1114a7), he proves the proposition first by means of a likeness in other things. We see that things done in individual actions make men of that particular stamp, that is, disposed to do similar things. This is clearly manifest in the case of those who are diligent in and take pains with an exercise (like wrestling or soldiering) or any activity whatsoever. Everyone, from the fact that he does the action many times, becomes so adept that he can do similar things perfectly. Since we see this happen in all cases, it seems that only a man lacking understanding would be ignorant that habits are produced by operations.

512. Then, at moreover, it is (1114a11), he shows the same thing by a reason taken from the relation of an act to a habit. If a man wills some cause from which he knows a particular effect results, it follows that he wills that effect. Although perhaps he does not intend that effect in itself, nevertheless he wishes that the effect exist rather than that the cause not exist. Thus, if someone wishes to walk when it is hot, knowing beforehand he will work up a sweat, it follows that he wishes to perspire. Although he does not wish this in itself, nevertheless he wishes rather to perspire than to forego the walk.

Nothing hinders a thing from being non-voluntary in itself, although it may be voluntary on account of something else, as a bitter potion taken for health. It would be otherwise if a man were ignorant that such an effect would follow from such a cause: for example, a voluntary action is not effected when a man who walks along the road falls among robbers, because he did not know this beforehand. Obviously, then, men who do unjust actions become unjust, and those committing seduction become incontinent. Therefore, it is unreasonable for a man to will to do unjust actions and nevertheless not intend to be unjust, or to will to perpetrate seductions and not will to be incontinent. Thus, obviously, if a man who is aware of his action does voluntarily those things that make him unjust, he will be voluntarily unjust.

513. At because a person becomes unjust (1114a14), he shows that evil habits are not subject to the will after they have been formed. He says that, because a person becomes unjust voluntarily, it does not follow that he ceases to be unjust and becomes just whenever he may will. He proves this by means of a likeness in the dispositions of the body. A man who, when in good health, willingly falls into sickness by living incontinently—that is, by eating and drinking to excess and not following the doctor’s advice—had it in his power in the beginning not to become sick. But, after he has performed the act, having eaten unnecessary or harmful food, it is no longer in his power not to be sick. Thus, he who throws a stone is able not to throw it; however, once he has thrown the stone, he has not the power to take back the throwing. Nevertheless we do say that it is within a man’s power to cast or throw a stone, because it was from a principle under his control. So it is also with the habits of vice; that a man not become unjust or incontinent arises from a principle under his control. Hence, we say that men are voluntarily unjust and incontinent, although, after they have become such, it is no longer within their power to cease being unjust or incontinent immediately, but great effort and practice are required.

514. Then, at not only (1114a21), he shows by means of a likeness to bodily defects that vicious habits are voluntary. He says that not only vices of the soul are voluntary, but also defects of the body in certain men. Such men we justly reproach. No one reproaches those who are born ugly, but only those who are ugly by reason of some negligence in proper care. The same is true with weaknesses and blindness. No one justly taunts a man who is blind from birth or disease or a wound that is not voluntary. On account of those things, sympathy, rather, is shown to the victim. Thus, it is evident that we are reproached for those vices and bodily defects that are within our power. Hence, obviously also in other things, that is, those things that pertain to the soul, the vices or vicious habits are in our power.

Refutation of the Opinion That We Have No Faculty Cognoscitive of Good

Someone may say that every man desires what appears good to him, for we are not in command of our imagination, but according to the character of each man, so does the end seem to him. [515]

Since, therefore, everyone is in some measure the cause of his habits, he is to some extent the cause of the manner in which his imagination reacts. [517]

Perhaps no one is himself the cause of the evil he does, but each acts because of ignorance of the end under the impression that something very good will follow by means of his action. It ensues, then, that the end is not an object desired by a man’s free will, but must be innate, as though a man had some sight to judge correctly and to desire what is really good. He is well-born who has this good judgment from birth. For, he will possess the greatest and best of gifts, one that can never be received or learned from others, but kept just as nature gave it, and to be well and nobly endowed with this will be a perfect and true and propitious heritage. [521]

If this is true, how is virtue more voluntary than vice? For both alike—the good and the wicked—the end appears and is fixed by nature or howsoever it may be. In referring everything else to this end, men do whatever they do. Whether the end, then, whatever it may be, does not so present itself by nature, but also depends on him, or whether the end is natural and the good man using the means is voluntarily virtuous, in either case virtue as well as vice will be voluntary. For, volition exists in the evil man also, since it influences him both in his actions and in his view of the end. If, then, as is affirmed, virtues are voluntary (for indeed we ourselves are partly responsible for the way our habits dispose us, and by living in a certain way, we fix our end accordingly), it follows that vices also are voluntary, because a similar reason is present. [524]

We have discussed virtues in general and the outline of their genus. We have shown that each is a mean and a habit. We have explained that habits produce the same actions by which the habits themselves are caused. We have said that habits are in our power and voluntary, that they follow right reason, and that voluntary operations are otherwise than habits because we have control over our operations from the beginning to the end when we know the particular circumstances. We are masters only of the beginning of our habits, but the individual steps by which they grow are not known to us, as in sicknesses. But because it was in our power to act or not to act in this way, the habits are called voluntary. [526]

Taking up again the consideration of virtues, we will discuss what each virtue is, with what matter it deals, and in what way it operates. At the same time, we will clearly see also how many virtues there are. First, we will treat the virtue of fortitude. [527]

515. Someone may say that every man. After the Philosopher has overthrown the fundamental principle of those who hold that vice is not voluntary on the part of the disposition inclining the appetitive faculty, he here excludes another fundamental principle on the part of the cognoscitive power.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he explains this fundamental principle.

Second, at since, therefore (1114b1; [517]), he rejects it.

In regard to the first, we must consider that good, precisely as it is perceived, moves the desire. As the natural desire or inclination follows the form naturally inherent, so the animal desire follows the perceived form. In order, then, that a thing be desired, it is first required that it be perceived as good. Hence, everyone desires what appears good to him.

516. Therefore, someone can say it is not in our power that this thing should seem or appear good to us. The reason is that we are not in command of our imagination, that is, over the way things appear or seem to us. But, in accord with the disposition of a man, so does his end seem to him, that is, such as a thing seems to a person, it must be desired as good and an end. A thing is agreeable to each according to its proper form: fire tends upward, and things of earth tend to the center. So, also, we see that, among the animals, each one strives after something as good and an end according to its own natural disposition. Hence, different animals have different activities and operations, although all animals of one species have similar movements and operations. But in the human species, individuals are found having different movements and operations; therefore, some were of the opinion that this arises from a difference in natural disposition that makes one thing seem good to one man and something else to another, and thus the procedure is not subject to man’s control or power.

517. Then, at since, therefore (1114b1), he excludes the aforementioned principle and, concerning it, he does three things.

First, he gives the reason repudiating these allegations [517].

Second, at perhaps no one (1114b3; [521]), he adds an answer that seems to counter this.

Third, at if this is true (1114b12; [524]), he disproves the counterargument.

On the first point, we must consider that a thing can appear good to someone in two ways.

518. In one way, in general, it is so by a kind of speculative consideration. Such a judgment about good follows not any particular disposition, but the universal power of reason syllogizing about actions, as it does in the case of natural things. Since practicable things are contingent, reason is not forced to assent to this or that as it does when demonstration occurs. But man has the power to give assent to one or the other part of a contradiction, as happens in all practicable things, especially when we have under consideration many objects, any one of which can be judged good.

519. In the other way, a thing can appear good to someone by a practical knowledge, as it were, by reason of a comparison with what is to be done. The Philosopher here speaks of this type of judgment that can be made in two ways about some good. In one way, a thing may appear good to someone absolutely and in itself. This seems to be a good in conformity with the nature of the end. In the other way, a thing may appear to someone not absolutely in itself, but judged by present considerations.

520. The appetitive faculty is inclined to an object on two accounts: one by reason of a passion of the soul, the other by reason of habit. Under the impulse of passion, it happens that a thing is judged good as it is at present. Thus, to one who is afraid of drowning, it appears good at the moment to throw his merchandise overboard; as does fornication to one filled with lust. But the judgment by which a man accounts a thing good in itself and absolutely arises from the inclination of habit. This we will discuss now. He, therefore, says that, since a man in some measure is the cause of his own evil habit by reason of his continual sinning—as has been pointed out [509–12], it follows that he himself is also the cause of the imaginative reaction that follows such a habit, that is, of the appearance by which this thing seems to be good in itself.

521. Next, at perhaps no one (1114b3), he gives the counterargument of the adversary against the point that has just been made [518–20]. He says that perhaps someone will maintain that nobody is himself the cause of his own evil acts, but each individual does evil because of ignorance of the end, inasmuch as he thinks that something very good is to follow from what he does wrongly. That a person desires a proper end does not arise from his own free will, but must belong to him from birth. Just as a man has from birth the external sight by which he correctly distinguishes colors, so also he should from birth have a well-disposed internal vision by which he may judge well and desire what is really good. Thus, he must be said to be of good birth in whom the previously mentioned judgment has been implanted from birth. When a man innately has in good and perfect fashion what is greatest and best for him, this is a perfect and truly good birth. For man cannot gain this through the help or guidance of another. Rather, it is proper for him to possess it in the manner that nature has endowed him with it. Therefore, that a man should have this from birth renders his birth doubly praiseworthy: in one way through the excellence of the good, in the other because of the impossibility of otherwise acquiring it.

522. We must consider that this seems to be the opinion of certain mathematicians who hold that man is disposed at his birth by the power of the heavenly bodies to do this or that. This opinion is attributed by Aristotle in his work De anima¹ to those who did not hold the distinction between sense and intellect. If anyone should say (as in fact it is said there in De anima), that the human will is impelled by the father of men and gods—that is, the heavens or the sun—it will follow that the will (and the reason, in which the will resides) is something corporeal, as the senses are. It is not possible that what is in itself incorporeal should be moved by a body. Thus, the will and intellect will contain a bodily organ and they will differ in no way from the senses and the sensitive appetitive faculty. Therefore he draws a comparison between the sense of sight and the intellectual vision by which we judge a thing.

523. It must be said, then, that the heavenly bodies can cause in the human body a disposition inclining the sensitive appetitive faculty, the motion of which is a passion of the soul. Hence, by reason of the influence of the heavenly bodies, a man does not have the inclination to judge that a thing is good absolutely and in itself (as through the habit of choice in virtue and vice), but to judge that a thing is good as it is at the moment, for example, in accordance with passion. The same observation must be made about the inclination that occurs from bodily temperament. In the present context, however, there is no question of a judgment by which we judge something good in accordance with passion, for the will is able to reject this—as was said [516], but of a judgment by which we judge that something is good by means of habit. Therefore, this answer does not destroy the reason of Aristotle.

524. At if this is (1114b12), he rejects this answer on the basis of the presuppositions of the adversary who took for granted that virtue is a voluntary thing but denied this of vice. Then, returning to his earlier discussion [516], which he had interrupted, he says that, if this is true—namely, that the desire of the end exists in man by nature—there is no greater reason why virtue more than vice is voluntary. Reasoning in a similar fashion, we say that for both alike—that is, for the virtuous and the vicious man—the goal must be innate no matter in what way it may seem to be perceived and actually desired. Although virtuous and vicious operation is concerned not only with the end but also with the means to the end, nevertheless men act by referring the remaining things (that is, means to the end) to an end not from nature, but howsoever it seems to them.

525. Therefore, it should be said either that the end for every man does not seem to be such by nature, but that it is relative to each man as it is in his power to cling to such or such an end, or that the end is natural and, by working on the means, man becomes voluntarily virtuous. Then virtue nonetheless will be voluntary. The same is true about vice, because what is for the sake of the end in operations is attributable to the vicious man no less than to the virtuous, just as they are alike in regard to the end—as has been pointed out before [358–62]. Therefore, if virtues are voluntary because of the fact that we are the causes of the habits by which we are disposed to fix an end of such a kind, it follows that vices also are voluntary, because a similar reason holds for one as well as the other.

526. Then, at we have discussed (1114b26), he sums up in conclusion the material previously discussed [524–5].

First, he shows what has already been said about virtues;

second, what remains to be treated.

He states first that virtues in general have been treated and that their genus has been clearly manifested in type, that is, according to their general characteristics. Then it has been said [324–31] what the mean is (this belongs to the proximate genus) and what the habits are (this belongs to the remote genus under which the vices are also contained). It has been affirmed also [255–79] that habits produce the same actions by which the habits themselves were caused. It has been stated too [496–525] that habits are in our power, that they follow right reason, and that voluntary operations are otherwise than habits because we have control over operations from the beginning to the end, provided we know the particular circumstances. Although we do have control of habits from the beginning, afterward, when we are inattentive, something is added in the generation of habits by means of particular operations. Thus, it happens in sicknesses brought on by voluntary actions, as has been noted [513]. But because it was in our power from the beginning to act or not to act in this way, the habits themselves are called voluntary.

527. Next, at taking up again (1115a4), he shows what remains to be treated. He says we must take up again the consideration of the virtues in order to determine what each virtue is, its subject matter, and its mode of operation. Thus, we will clearly see also how many virtues there are. First, we will treat the virtue of fortitude.

Fortitude

We stated previously that fortitude is a mean dealing with fear and rashness. [528]

Terrifying things are what we fear. They are the things things we universally call evil. For this reason, philosophers define fear as the expectation of evil. We all fear certain evils such as a bad reputation, poverty, sickness, enmity, and death. [530]

But fortitude does not seem to deal with all evils. [532]

For, to fear some things is both proper and good, and not to fear others is base. For instance, in the matter of a bad reputation, he who fears this is said to be decent and modest; one who does not have this fear is called shameless. Such a person is said by some to be brave in a metaphorical sense, because he is like a brave man inasmuch as he is without fear. [533]

Poverty is not to be feared; neither is sickness, nor any of those things that are not caused by wickedness or man himself. But one who has no fear of these things is not called brave, except perhaps by way of similarity. Some are cowardly in the dangers of war but generous and courageous in the face of the loss of their fortune. [534]

No one is called cowardly because he fears injury to his children or his wife, or because he fears envy or any other thing of this kind. No one is called brave because he does not fear a flogging. [535]

About what kind of terrifying things is a brave man concerned? Is he concerned with the most terrifying? No one can sustain such perils more than he. Now, the most frightening of all is death, for it is the end, and nothing either good or bad seems to exist any longer for the dead. [536]

It does not seem that fortitude is concerned with death as it occurs in every case, such at sea or in sickness, but ony in the most suitable cases, such as when men die fighting for their country. [537]

Such men lose their lives in the greatest and noblest dangers. [538]

Honors are given to them both in the city-states and in the monarchies. [539]

A man is called brave principally because he is not afraid of death for a good cause, nor of all emergencies that involve death. Such emergencies are to be met with most often in battle. [540]

Moreover, brave men are unafraid both in shipwreck and in sickness. They differ from sailors, for these brave men despise this sort of death when there is no hope of rescue, while sailors may well hope to be saved by reason of their experience. [541]

Likewise, brave men act manfully in danger where it is praiseworthy to be courageous and to give one’s life. But neither of these conditions exist in these other forms of death. [542]

528. We stated previously that fortitude. After Aristotle has finished the treatise on virtues in general, he begins here a particularized study of the individual virtues.

First, he treats the virtues concerned with the interior passions.

Second, he treats justice and injustice (concerned with external actions) in book 5, at we must give our attention to justice and injustice (1129a3; [885]).

The first section falls into two parts.

In the first part, he treats the moral virtues dealing with the principal passions touching the very life of man.

Second, he treats the moral virtues that are concerned with the secondary passions, which touch the external goods of man, in book 4 at let us next discuss (1119b22; [649]).

Concerning the first part, he does two things.

First, he studies fortitude, which deals with the passions touching things destructive of human life.

Second, he studies temperance, which deals with the passions touching things preservative of human life, such as food and sex, at following this, we must discuss temperance (1117b23; [595]).

On the first point, he does three things.

First, he investigates the matter of fortitude.

Second, the same thing is not terrifying (1115b7; [543]), he treats the method of its operation.

Third, at although fortitude is concerned (1117a29; [583]), he determines certain properties of the virtue.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he reviews what was clearly evident from the premises about the matter of fortitude, that is, with what passions it deals.

Second, at terrifying things are what (1115a7; [530]), he investigates the objects of these passions as fortitude is concerned with them.

529. He says, as has already been explained in book 2 [267, 341], that fortitude is a kind of mean dealing with fear and rashness. Fortitude denotes a firmness of soul by which it remains unmoved by the fear of dangers.

530. Then, at terrifying things (1115a7), he investigates the objects of the previously mentioned passions according as fortitude treats them, especially on the part of the fear about which fortitude is principally concerned, as will be pointed out later [536]. The objects of fear and rashness are identical, for what one man flees because of fear, another attacks in his rashness.

On this point, three considerations demand his attention.

First, he shows what the objects of fear are.

Second, at but fortitude does not (1115a11; [532]), he explains with what class of these objects fortitude deals, since it is concerned with fear of death.

Third, at it does not seem (1115a28; [537]), he shows in particular what kind of death fortitude envisages.

531. He says first that terrifying things are those we are afraid of—objects of fear, so to speak. All evil things are universally of this kind. Hence, philosophers, in giving a definition of fear, say that it is the expectation of evil. Expectation is here taken generally for any movement of the appetitive faculty toward some future things, although expectation properly speaking is directed only to good, as is hope. It is evident, then, that we all fear some evils, like a bad reputation and disgrace (which are contrary to respectability), destitution and poverty (which are contrary to the goods of external fortune), and sickness, enmity, and death (which are contrary to personal goods).

532. Next, at but fortitude does not (1115a11), he shows that fortitude deals with the fear of some particular evils.

First, he shows about what evils it is not concerned.

Second, at about what kind of terrifying things (1115a24; [536]), he concludes about what evils it is concerned.

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he sets forth his proposition that fortitude does not seem to deal with the fear of all evils.

533. Second, at for, to fear some things (1115a12), he proves his proposition.

And first, that fortitude does not deal with the fear of a bad reputation. The brave man is praised because he does not fear. But there are certain things that we ought to fear in order to live a good life. It is good to fear these things inasmuch as fear is not only necessary for the preservation of respectability but even something honorable itself. There is a kind of disgrace attached to the person who does not fear evils of this sort. This is obvious from the fact that one who fears a bad reputation is praised as decent, that is, morally good and modest. But one who does not fear evil of this kind is blamed as shameless. It is evident, therefore, that fortitude is not concerned with fear of these evils. Sometimes, it is true, a man who does not fear a bad reputation is called by some brave in a metaphorical sense, because he has a likeness to a brave man inasmuch as he is without fear.

534. In the second part, at poverty is not to be feared (1115a17), he shows that fortitude does not deal with the fear of poverty. He says that poverty is not to be feared in the way that a bad reputation is to be feared [533]. Neither is sickness to be feared, nor indeed any of those things that do not pertain to the wickedness of which man himself is the cause. It is useless for man to fear what he is unable to avoid. In regard to such things, therefore, a man ought to fear lest he fall into any of them by his own wickedness. The reason is that fear is useful to avoid these very things, but not otherwise. Although it is not necessary to fear things of this sort, nevertheless one who has no fear of them is not called brave except perhaps in a metaphorical sense. The reason is that not to fear poverty seems to belong to another virtue, liberality. Some are praised for the act of this virtue inasmuch as they spend money freely. Yet they are called complete cowards in the greater dangers of war. Therefore, fortitude is not concerned with the fear of poverty.

535. In the third part, at no one is (1115a22), he shows that fortitude does not deal with any fear whatsoever of personal evils. He says that a man is not called cowardly because he fears injury or envy of himself, his children, or his wife, or any other thing of this kind. A person is not said to be brave because he does not fear the lash but boldly endures it, since these things are not especially terrifying. But a person is brave without qualification from the fact that he is brave in the face of the most terrifying dangers. One who is undaunted in some other circumstances is not called absolutely brave, but brave in that particular category.

536. At about what kind of (1115a24), he shows that fortitude is concerned with the fear of certain evils, saying that a man is called absolutely brave from the fact that he is fearless in the face of dangers that are most terrifying. Virtue is determined according to the maximum of the faculty, as is pointed out in De caelo I.¹ Therefore, the virtue of fortitude must deal with the things that are most terrifying, so that no one endures greater dangers than the brave man. Among all dangers the most frightening is death. The reason is that death is the end of all present life, and after death, there does not seem to be any good or evil equal to those things of this life that inflict death on us. Things belonging to the state of the soul after death are not visible to us, but that by which a man loses all his goods is appallingly frightening. Hence, it seems that fortitude is properly concerned with fear of the dangers of death.

537. Then, at it does not seem (1115a28), he shows that fortitude is concerned with the fear of a particular kind of death.

On this point, he does two things.

First, he shows with what kind of death fortitude deals.

Second, at a man is called brave (1115a32; [540]), he explains the relation of fortitude to all the kinds of death.

In regard to the first, he does two things.

First, he sets forth his proposition.

Second, at such men lose their lives (1115a30; [538]), he proves his proposition.

He says first that fortitude is not even concerned with the death that a man suffers in some kind of accident or employment, as at sea or in sickness, but with death that he suffers from the best of causes, as happens when a man dies fighting in defense of his country. The same reason holds in the case of any other death that a person undergoes for the good of virtue. But he makes a special mention of death in battle because, in that undertaking, men more frequently suffer death for the sake of good.

538. Then, at such men lose (1115a30), he proves his proposition by two reasons.

The first is that death in battle happens in the greatest danger, since a man easily loses his life there. It happens also in the most noble of dangers, since a man undergoes the danger in that case on account of the common good that is the greatest good, as has been noted in the beginning [30]. But virtue is concerned with what is greatest and best. Therefore, the virtue of fortitude especially deals with death that takes place in battle.

539. Second, at honors are given (1115a31), he proves the same thing from the fact that honors are given to those who die such a death or bravely expose themselves to the danger of a death of this kind. This is the practice both in city-states that exist by association and in monarchies, where kings alone rule. The reason is that those who fight bravely in battle are honored both while they live and after death. But honor is the reward of virtue. Therefore, the virtue of fortitude is considered as dealing with death of this kind.

540. At a man is called brave (1115a32), he shows how fortitude has a relation to all the kinds of death.

First, he shows the way fortitude is related to the fear of death.

Second, at likewise, brave men (1115b4), he shows its relation to boldness, which is a reaction to dangers of this kind.

On the first point, he does two things.

First, he explains the death about which fortitude is principally concerned. A man is called brave, he says, mainly because he is not afraid of death for a good cause, nor is he afraid of the threats—especially sudden threats—of death. The reason is that every virtue is ordered to good. Actions that must be done on the spur of the moment show in a special way that a person acts from habit. In other situations, a man, after careful deliberations, can perform actions like those that proceed from the habit. Actions pertaining to good and the unexpected dangers in battle are especially of this kind. Hence, the brave man who is not afraid is concerned principally with these actions.

541. Next, at moreover, brave men,(1115a35), he shows how the brave man himself is without fear of other kinds of death. He says that, as a consequence, brave men are unafraid both in storms at sea and in sickness because they do not lose their heads and become upset because of fear of such dangers. In storms, however, they differ from sailors. Even if the brave have no hope of rescue, they nevertheless despise death and are without fear. But sailors are unafraid of dangers from the sea by reason of their experience, for they have hope of being easily able to escape them.

542. Then, at likewise, brave men (1115b4), he shows that fortitude is principally concerned not only with fear of death but also with boldness in dangers of this kind. He says that brave men likewise act manfully by meeting dangers in those circumstances where fortitude is praiseworthy and where it is noble to die, as in battle. It is good that a man endanger his life for the common welfare. But in the aforesaid modes of death, by shipwreck or by sickness, fortitude is not honorable, nor does any good follow from death. Hence, it does not belong to the virtue of fortitude to meet such dangers boldly.

The Act of Fortitude

The same thing is not terrifying to all, but we do call that terrifying that is above the power of man to resist. The superhuman is frightening to every sensible person. However, what is within the power of man differs according to magnitude and degree. It is the same with daring undertakings. [543]

The brave man does not lose his head, but acts like a man. He will, therefore, fear such things, and he will undergo them as he ought, and as reason will judge, for the sake of good, which is the end of virtue. But man sometimes fears dangers more or less; he fears things that are not terrifying as if they were terrifying. Man is at fault because he fears at times the wrong things, at other times in the wrong way or at the wrong time and so forth. The same observation may be made about what inspires confidence. [545]

One who endures and fears the right things, for the right motive, in the right manner, and at the right time, is brave. Likewise, the brave man acts daringly, for he endures and acts in conformity with what is worthy and according to reason. [547]

The end of every action is conformity with its own habit. The good intended by the brave man is fortitude, and this is also an end, since every means is determined by its end. The brave man endures and works, for the sake of good, the things that are in conformity with fortitude. [549]

Of those who go to excess, that man who fears nothing is unnamed. We mentioned before that many vices are unnamed but that a person is a madman or insensible who fears nothing, neither earthquakes nor floods, as it is said of the Celts. [551]

He who is excessive in daring when dealing with frightening things is called reckless. The reckless man is thought to be vain, but he only feigns courage. As the brave man really is in face of danger, so the vain man wishes to appear (even imitating the actions of the brave man). Hence, many who seem brave are in fact cowards. They are daring in these circumstances (of little danger) but do not stand up when fearful things occur. [552]

One who is excessive in fearing is a coward; he fears the things he ought not to fear, as he ought not (and similarly in the other circumstances). He is also deficient in daring, but he is more conspicuous from the fact that he fears painful situations too much. [553]

The coward is a despairing man inasmuch as he fears everything. The brave man, on the contrary, has great hope inasmuch as he is courageous. [554]

The cowardly, the reckless, and the brave are all concerned with these passions, but they are disposed towards them in a different way. The reckless and the cowardly have excess and defect, but the brave man holds a middle course as he ought. [555]

The reckless are precipitate and rush to meet danger, but when actually in it, they fall down. The brave, however, are vigorous while in action and calm beforehand. [556]

As has been pointed out, fortitude is a mean concerned with situations that inspire confidence or terror about which we have spoken; it desires or endures things because it is good to do so, or because it is base not to do so. But to suffer death in order to avoid poverty or a disappointed love or something painful is not characteristic of a brave man, but rather of a coward. It is a kind of effeminacy not to endure these misfortunes, and besides, such a one suffers a death not for an honorable good but to escape evil. Such, then, is the nature of fortitude. [557]

543. The same thing is not terrifying. After the Philosopher has investigated the matter of fortitude, he now treats its act.

First, he distinguishes the act of fortitude from the acts of the opposite vices.

Second, at other kinds of fortitude are enumerated (1116a16; 561]), he treats certain things that have an act similar to fortitude.

He discusses the first point under two aspects.

First, he determines how acts can be differentiated in the matter presently investigated.

Second, at one who endures (1115b17; [547]), he shows what the proper act of fortitude is by comparison with the acts of the opposite vices.

He handles the first point in a twofold manner.

First, he assigns the reason for differentiating acts in this matter.

Second, at the brave man does not lose (1115b10; [545]), he shows how they are differentiated.

He observes first that the same thing is not terrifying to all.

544. Since fear is in the irascible part—the object of which is the difficult—fear is concerned only with an evil that is in some way above the power of the one fearing. Hence, a thing is terrifying to a child that is not terrifying to a mature man. There are evils that exceed human power to overcome, such as earthquakes, tidal waves, and other disasters of this sort. Hence, evils of this kind are terrifying to every sensible man endowed with good judgment. But that terrifying thing that does not seem to exceed man’s power to resist may be viewed in a twofold way.

One is according to the different magnitude of the thing; for example, it is more terrifying to have many enemies come together than to have only a few.

The other is according to degree, such as enemies having greater or less hatred or being closer or farther away. What has been said about terrifying things must be said likewise about things inspiring courage, since fear and boldness have the same object, as has been said previously [530].

545. Then, at the brave man (1115b10), he shows by the reason just given how acts are differentiated in this matter. When it is affirmed that the brave man does not lose his head because of fear, this must be understood as referring to a man of sound judgment. Such a one will fear the things that are above man. Hence, the brave man will also fear them. However, in a case of necessity or utility, he will undergo such things as he ought and as right reason, which is proper to man, will judge. In this way, he will not forsake the judgment of reason on account of the fear of such things, but will endure terrifying things of this kind, no matter how great, on account of the good that is the end of virtue.

546. It happens at times that a man fears terrifying things that are above his power, or within his power more or less than reason judges. What is more, it happens that he fears the things that are not terrifying as if they were terrifying. Man’s sin consists principally in what is contrary to right reason. As sickness takes place in the body by reason of a disorder of some humor, so too sin against reason takes place in the soul by reason of a disorder of some circumstance. Hence, sometimes a person sins in the matter of fear from the fact that he fears what he ought not to fear, but other times from the fact that he fears when he ought not to fear. The same must be said about the other circumstances enumerated above [544]. What has been affirmed about terrifying things is to be understood about things inspiring boldness where a similar reason is found, as has been said [544].

547. Next, at one who (1115b17), he shows what the act of fortitude is by means of a comparison with the opposite vices.

He treats this under two headings.

First, he explains the act of the virtue and of the vices.

Second, at the reckless are (1116a7; [556]), he compares the virtue with certain things that seem similar to it.

He discusses the first point in a threefold manner.

First, he defines the acts of the virtue and the vices relating to fear and rashness;

second, at the coward is (1116a2; [554]), those relating to hope and despair;

third, at the coward, the reckless (1116a4; [555]), he concludes with a summary.

He handles the first point from two aspects.

First, he defines the act of the virtuous man;

second, at of those who go (1115b24; [551]), the acts of the vicious man.

He considers the first point in a twofold way.

First, he expounds his proposition.

Second, at the end (1115b20; [549]), he makes clear something he had said.

548. He says first that one who endures the things he ought to endure and flees through fear the things he ought to avoid with the right motivation, in the right manner, and at the right time is called brave. Likewise, he who dares in the things he ought for the right motive and so forth is also brave. He assigns the reason for this when he says that a brave and virtuous man suffers on account of fear and he acts by means of daring in conformity with what is fitting and as right reason indicates. Every moral virtue is in accord with right reason, as was stated previously [323, 326].

549. At the end (1115b20), he makes clear something he had said, namely, the right motive for operating. He remarks that the end of every virtuous operation is in conformity with the nature of its own habit. A habit caused by custom operates after the manner of a nature because custom is a kind of nature, as is noted in the book De memoria et reminiscentia.¹ The ultimate end of an agent naturally operating is the good of the universe, a perfect good; but the proximate end is to imprint its likeness in another. Thus, the end of a warm object is to make things warm by means of its activity. Likewise, the ultimate end of operative virtue is happiness, a perfect good, as was said in the first book [45, 111–12, 117–18, 201, 222]. But the proximate and proper end is to impress a likeness of the habit on the act.

550. This is what he means in his statement that the good that the brave man intends is fortitude—not the habit of fortitude, for this already exists, but the likeness of it in the act. This also is the end, since every means is determined by its proper end, because the character of means to the end is derived from the end. For this reason, the end of fortitude is something pertaining to the nature of fortitude. In this way, the brave man endures and works for the sake of good, that is, inasmuch as he intends to perform the actions that are in conformity with fortitude.

551. Then, at of those who go to excess (1115b24), he defines the acts of vicious men:

first, of the man deficient in fear;

second, of the man excessive in daring, at he who is excessive in daring (1115b28; [552]);

third, at one who is excessive in fearing (1115b33; [553]), he defines the acts of the man excessive in fearing.

He says first that there is no special term for the man who abounds—speaking of the vices pertaining to excess in fearlessness—namely, who fears nothing. It was said before [341] that many vices have no names. This particularly happens in things that rarely occur. And fearlessness of this sort rarely happens. It occurs only in the case of madmen and insensible persons who fear nothing—not even earthquakes, floods, or anything of this kind. This is said to happen among certain people called Celts, which is the name of a nation. He speaks here of one who is insensible or without a sense of pain because the future things we fear and the things that cause us pain when present are the same.

552. Next, at he who (1115b28), he treats those who are excessive in daring. He says that the man who, in dealing with terrifying things, abounds in daring by boldly attacking them beyond what reason suggests is called reckless. But there is also one who is apparently but not really reckless, the vain man who pretends to be brave. Hence, as the brave or reckless man really is in regard to terrifying things, so the vain man seeks to appear. Because of this, the vain man imitates the works of the brave or reckless man when he can do so without danger. Hence, many of those who seem brave or reckless are cowardly. Many of those who are reckless in circumstances having little danger do not endure when truly frightening things occur.

553. At one who (1115b33), he treats of one who is excessive in fearing. The Philosopher says a man is a coward when he fears what he should not fear, in the way he should not fear, and so on. The man inordinate in fear is lacking in daring. The only reason why a person does not attack to destroy frightening things is fear. But the lack of fear can exist without the recklessness of attack. It does not follow, then, that everyone who does not flee as he ought attacks more than he ought. But whoever is deficient in attacking the right things is motivated only by fear. For this reason, Aristotle separates the defect of fear from the excess of recklessness but joins the excess of fear with the defect of recklessness. Although the coward is extreme in fearing and deficient in daring, nevertheless he is more conspicuous from the fact that he abounds in the fear of painful situations than from the fact that he is lacking in daring, because the defect is not so easily seen as the excess.

554. Then, at the coward is (1116a2), he shows how the previously named things are related to hope and despair. For an understanding of this, we must consider that the object of recklessness and fear is evil. But the object of hope and despair is good. The appetitive faculty tends of itself toward the good, but incidentally flees the good by reason of some evil attached. Likewise, the appetitive faculty of itself flees the evil. But what is essential causes what is incidental. For this reason, hope—whose characteristic is to tend toward good—causes recklessness that tends toward the evil it attacks. For the same reason, fear, which flees evil, is the cause of despair, which withdraws from good. He says, therefore, that the coward is a despairing man, inasmuch as he fears his deficiency in everything. On the contrary, the brave man has great hope because he is courageous.

555. Next, at the cowardly, the reckless (1116a4), he sums up what has been said, concluding from the premises that the cowardly, the reckless, and the brave man all are concerned with these passions but related to them in a different way. The reckless man exceeds in daring and is lacking in fear; the cowardly man exceeds in fear and is lacking in daring. But the brave man follows a middle course in these matters, as he ought according to right reason.

556. At the reckless (1116a7), he compares fortitude with things similar to it.

First, he shows the difference between the brave and the reckless man.

Second, at as has been pointed out (1116a10; [557]), he shows the difference between the brave man and the man who undergoes death to escape misfortunes.

Now, the coward seems to have nothing in common with the brave man, and for this reason, Aristotle does not care to assign the difference between them. He remarks that the reckless are impetuous, rushing into danger—that is, swiftly and spiritedly going out to meet it—because they are moved by a surge of passion beyond reason. When they are actually in the danger, they are checked, for the movement of the preceding passion is overcome by the threatening danger. But when the brave are in the very midst of the dangers, they are vigorous because the judgment according to which they act is not overcome by any danger. But, before they meet the difficulties, they are calm, because they do not act from violence of passion, but from deliberate reason.

557. Then, at as has been pointed out (1116a10), he shows the difference between a brave man and the man who undergoes death to escape misfortune. He says, as has been noted [535–40], that fortitude is a mean in terrifying things, which are evils concerned with the dangers of death spoken of before [535–40]: fortitude tends to operate virtuously and sustains sufferings of this kind in order to bring about something good and honorable, or in order to flee something disgraceful and dishonorable. However, that one should die by laying hands on himself or by voluntarily suffering death inflicted by another (in order to escape poverty or a longing for a thing that he cannot possess or whatever else there is that causes sorrow) does not belong to a brave man, but rather to a coward. This happens for two reasons.

First, it happens because a certain effeminacy of soul, contrary to fortitude, seems to exist when a person is unable to undergo hardships and sorrows.

Second, it happens because such a one does not suffer death for an honorable good, as the brave man does, but to escape a painful evil.

558. Finally, he concludes that we can know the nature of fortitude from what was said.

Acts of Civic and Military Fortitude

Other kinds of fortitude are enumerated according to five types. Among these, fortitude of the citizen holds first place, for it is most like real fortitude. Citizens apparently undergo dangers because of legal penalties and the disgrace of cowardice, and also for the sake of honor. For this reason, men are found to be very brave in those states where the cowardly are censured and the brave accorded honors. [561]

Homer mentions men of this kind, such as Diomedes and Hector. The latter says, Polydamas would be the first to reproach me.¹ And Diomedes says, Hector at some time or other when boasting to the Trojans will say, Tydides has fled from me.² [563]

This fortitude is most like that we just discussed as being exercised on account of virtue. It is indeed practiced on account of shame and the desire of the honorable, for fortitude of this sort is for the sake of honor and the avoidance of the disgrace of opprobrium. [564]

Those who are under compulsion from their rulers will be included in the same type of fortitude. They are less worthy of the title, however, insofar as they do not act bravely because of shame, but rather out of fear, for they flee not what is disgraceful, but what is painful. Masters coerce their subjects by threats, as Hector did: Anyone I find giving way to fear and not doing battle will not have a chance to escape the dogs.¹ [565]

Rulers do the same thing when they command their subjects not to give ground and beat those who do. A similar judgment is to be passed on those who, before battle, construct walls, trenches, and other such obstacles to retreat. All such have coerced their subjects. But the virtuous man must be brave not because of constraint, but because of the good of virtue. [566]

In particular cases, experience seems to be a kind of fortitude. For this reason, Socrates thought that fortitude was knowledge. As others are brave in other things from experience, so soldiers are brave in warfare. In war, there are many operations without danger, which soldiers know very well. Those engaged in these exercises seem brave to others who are ignorant of the nature of such things. Hence, professional soldiers are especially able by reason of experience to attack their adversaries without harm to themselves: skilled in the use of arms, they are able to guard themselves from blows and to strike back. They possess other skills like those that enable them to inflict injury while they themselves are not injured. They fight against others like the armed against the unarmed, like well-trained athletes against inexperienced rustics. In athletic contests of this kind, it is not the brave who can fight the most, but rather those who are physically powerful and well-conditioned. [567]

Soldiers turn cowards when they see that the danger exceeds their skill and that they are inferior in numbers and military preparations. They are the first to run away, while those possessing the fortitude of the citizen, refusing to leave, give up their lives. This actually happened in the battle at the temple of Hermes. Citizens think it disgraceful to flee and choose to die rather than to be saved under such circumstances. But soldiers expose themselves to danger because, from the beginning, they think themselves more powerful. When the truth dawns on them, they take flight, fearing death more than disgrace, but not so the brave man. [570]

559. Other kinds of fortitude. After the Philosopher has ascertained how the acts of real fortitude and of the opposite vices are constituted, he treats here certain dispositions having an act similar to but lacking real fortitude.

This happens in five ways.

Since real fortitude is a moral virtue (for which knowledge is required, and because of this, choice), a person exercising an act of fortitude can fall short of real virtue in three ways.

In one way, because he does not operate with knowledge. This is the fifth type of counterfeit fortitude, according to which a person is said to be brave through ignorance.

In another way, because a person does not operate by choice, but by passion (whether it is a passion urging one to undergo dangers as anger does, or a passion quieting fear of the mind as hope does).

According to this consideration, there are two kinds of counterfeit fortitude.

560. The third way a person falls short of real fortitude is that he operates by choice but does not choose what the brave man chooses. In undergoing dangers, he does not think it hazardous, because of his skill, to fight in battle, as is evident among soldiers; or he chooses to undergo the dangers not on account of the end that a brave man chooses, but on account of honors or punishments decreed by rulers of states.

561. Accordingly, this portion falls into five parts.

In the first part, he treats civic fortitude or fortitude of the citizen;

in the second, the fortitude of the soldier at in particular cases (1116b3; [567]);

in the third part, fortitude that operates through anger, at people confuse rage (1116b23; [572]);

in the fourth part, fortitude that operates through hope, at likewise the confident (1117a9; [577]);

in the fifth part, fortitude that operates through ignorance, at those who operate in ignorance (1117a22; [580]).

In regard to the first, he indicates three kinds of civic fortitude.

The first kind belongs to those who undergo dangers for the sake of honor.

The second belongs to those who undergo dangers because of the fear of punishments, at those who are under compulsion (1116a29; [565]).

The third, at rulers do the same (1116a36; [566]), belongs to those who attack and expose themselves to dangerous situations because of pressing compulsion.

He discusses the first point under three headings.

562. First, he brings out this kind of fortitude. He says that, over and above real fortitude, certain other kinds of fortitude are enumerated according to five types. Among these, civic fortitude or fortitude of the citizen holds first place because this type is very similar to real fortitude. Citizens undergo dangers to avoid penalties and disgrace that, according to the civil laws, are inflicted on the cowardly, and to acquire honors that are bestowed on the brave by the same laws. So, in those states where blame is heaped on the cowardly and honors on the brave, men are found most brave according to this type of fortitude, and perhaps even according to the real virtue by reason of habit.

563. Second, at Homer mentions (1116a21), he gives examples taken from Homer, who, describing the Trojan War, introduces men brave for honor or fear of blame: Diomedes among the Greeks, and Hector among the Trojans. He represents Hector as saying these words: Polydamas, the Trojan leader, will be the first to reproach me (that is, he will find fault first of all with me) if I do not fight manfully. And Diomedes, exhorting himself to act bravely, said that Hector, haranguing the Trojans, will say in praise of himself and in vituperation of me that Tydides (Diomedes’ name given him from his father) has fled from me and has been beaten.

564. Third, at this fortitude (1116a27), he clarifies what he has said about how this kind of fortitude is very similar to the genuine virtue. He says that the citizen’s fortitude is much like the one of which we have spoken [562], since it is for the sake of virtue. This fortitude of the citizen is practiced through shame or fear of the disgraceful, inasmuch as someone flees disgrace, and through a desire of the good or honorable insofar as this fortitude seeks honor, which is the testimony of goodness. For this reason, he adds in explanation that fortitude of this sort is motivated by honor and avoidance of opprobrium, which is the disgraceful. Since, then, honor is a thing near to an honorable good, and blame to the disgraceful, it follows that this fortitude is close to real fortitude, which seeks what is honorable and flees from what is shameful.

565. Then, at those who (1116a29), he indicates the second kind of civic fortitude that is practiced on account of punishment. He says that those who are brave can be assigned the same type of civic fortitude because compelled by the fear of punishments inflicted by rulers of the state. They are, however, inferior to the previously mentioned insofar as they do not act bravely on account of the shame of disgrace, but on account of fear of punishment. This is why he adds that they do not flee what is disgraceful or dishonorable but what is sorrowful—that is, painful or injurious—from the fact that someone is made sad. In this way, the masters compel their subjects to fight bravely. According to Homer, Hector threatened the Trojans in these words: anyone running away and not doing battle—that is, without fighting bravely—[I will handle so roughly that] he will not have a chance to escape the dogs.

566. Next, at rulers do the same (1116a36), he presents the third kind of civic fortitude according as some are compelled by their rulers then and there, and not only by fear of future punishment. This is why he says that rulers do the same thing by their actions when they command their subjects not to run away from battle, and beat those who do. A similar judgment is to be passed on those who, before battle, construct walls and trenches and other such obstacles to retreat so that their subjects cannot take to flight. All rulers who do things of this kind coerce their subjects to fight. And those who act under compulsion in this way are not really brave, because the virtuous man must be brave not on account of the constraint he suffers, but because of the good of virtue.

567. At in particular cases (1116b3), he treats the fortitude of the soldier.

He explains this question in a twofold manner.

First, he shows what leads soldiers to fight bravely.

Second, he compares the fortitude of the soldier and the citizen, at soldiers turn cowards (1116b15; [570]).

He says first that, in individual cases, experience seems to be a kind of fortitude. In any undertaking, one who has knowledge from experience works boldly and without fear, as Vegetius says in his book on military affairs: no one fears to do what he believes he has learned to do well. For this reason, Socrates thought fortitude was knowledge that is acquired by experience. He even thought that all the virtues are kinds of knowledge. But this question will be studied later in the book 6 [1286]. Therefore, since certain others are brave by experience in particular affairs, so soldiers are brave in warfare by reason of experience.

568. Two things follow from this.

The first is that, in war, there are many great things like the clash of arms, the charge of the cavalry, and so on that strike the inexperienced with terror, although there is little or no danger in them. These things, as the professional soldiers know, are not really to be dreaded. Hence, men seem brave when engaging without fear in exercises that appear dangerous to others who are inexperienced and ignorant of the nature of what is taking place.

Second, it follows that, by reason of experience, professional soldiers in fighting can do hurt to their adversaries while not suffering or being harmed in turn. They can guard themselves from blows and can strike back, for they are clever in the use of weapons, and they possess other skills effective in enabling them to inflict injury while they themselves are not injured. Hence, it is obvious they fight against others as the armed against the unarmed. A man is in effect unarmed if he does not know how or is unable to use arms.

569. The same can be said of athletes, that is, strong and well-trained boxers compared to simple and inexperienced farm boys. In such athletic contests, it is not the brave who can fight the most, but those who are physically powerful and well-conditioned.

570. Then, at soldiers turn (1116b15), he compares the fortitude of the soldier and the citizen. He says that soldiers fight bravely so long as they do not see danger threatening. But when the danger exceeds the skill they have in arms and when they lack numbers and adequate military preparations, they become cowardly. Then they are the first to run away; they were daring for no other reason than that they thought the danger was not imminent. Therefore, when they first see the danger, they take to their heels. But those who possess the fortitude of the citizen—refusing to leave the danger—lose their lives, as happened in a certain place where the citizens remained after the soldiers had fled. The reason is that citizens think it disgraceful to run away, and choose to die rather than save themselves by flight. But soldiers expose themselves to dangers because, from the beginning, they think themselves more powerful. But after they have recognized that the enemy is more powerful, they take to flight, fearing death more than ignominious escape. It is not so with the brave man who fears disgrace more than death.

Counterfeit Fortitude

People confuse rage or wrath with fortitude. Indeed, the enraged appear brave in the way that wild animals turn on those who have wounded them. The brave man does give the appearance of rage, which acts most impetuously against danger. Hence Homer warns, put strength into thy wrath,¹ and arouse thy might and wrath,² and (in reference to a certain man) he panted harsh courage through both nostrils,³ and his blood boiled.⁴ All such expressions seem to signify the stirring up and the impulse of rage. [572]

The brave are incited to valorous deeds by reason of honor with rage cooperating. [573]

Wild animals attack danger because of pain from a wound or from fear; undisturbed in the woods and swamps, they do not come out to attack. They are not truly brave because, aroused against danger by pain and rage, they do not foresee the risks involved. Otherwise, hungry jackasses would be brave, since they do not stop eating when beaten. (Adulterers too undertake many risks for their sensual desire.) Therefore, animals who are incited against danger by pain and rage are not truly brave. That reaction prompted by passion seems to be a most natural one, and if to it be added choice and a proper end, it is fortitude. [574]

Angry men are grieved [because of injury suffered], but delighted when taking vengeance. Those who act this way perhaps are fighters, but hardly brave men, for they do not do what is honorable, nor are they led by reason, but rather by passion. They do though possess something similar to real fortitude. [576]

Likewise, the confident are not truly brave; they are hopeful because they have often conquered many enemies in the midst of dangers. [577]

However, such confident people are like the truly brave because both are daring. But the truly brave are daring in the fashion already indicated, while the confident dare because they think themselves better fighters and expect to suffer nothing. The intoxicated also act in this way, becoming abundantly hopeful, but when they fail to get what was expected, they give up. The brave man, though, will suffer evils that seem, and really are, terrifying to men—and this for the sake of what is honorable and to avoid disgrace. [578]

Therefore, that man seems to be braver who does not fear more and who is not more disturbed by unexpected terrors than by those that were foreseen. He seems to act more by habit, since he acts less from preparation. Someone can choose by reason and deliberation things that are foreseen, but in unexpected events, habit asserts itself. [579]

Those who operate in ignorance of dangers seem to be brave. They do not differ greatly from people who are brave by reason of great hope. They are inferior, however, since they have no self-reliance, unlike the confident who remain in the fight for some time. Those who are bold through ignorance take flight as soon as they know the situation is different from what they suspect. This happened to the Argives when they fell on the Spartans whom they thought Sicyonians.¹ We have now discussed both the brave and those thought to be brave. [580]

571. People confuse rage or wrath. After having disposed of two types of counterfeit fortitude, he proposes here to treat a third kind operating by means of rage that urges to the act of fortitude.

He treats this point in a twofold manner.

First, he shows how rage inclines to the act of fortitude.

Second, at the brave are (1116b30; [573]), he shows how this fortitude differs from real fortitude.

He observes first that men in common usage of speech confuse rage with fortitude when they attribute to fortitude things that enraged or angry people do. Indeed, the enraged and angry do seem to be brave. So, too, do beasts, who, when aroused to rage, attack men beating them. Fortitude has some likeness to rage inasmuch as rage incites against danger with a very strong impulse. But the brave strives against danger with strength of soul.

572. As an example, he quotes the verses of Homer, who warned someone in these words: put strength into your wrath so that wrath may be directed by the virtue of the soul; arouse your might and wrath that the virtue of your soul may be rendered more prompt by anger. Elsewhere, Homer remarks that certain people pant harsh courage through both nostrils; in other words, wrath, because of the beating of the heart, makes breathing so heavy that sometimes the blood boils up through the nostrils from the force of rage. And the Philosopher observes that Homer’s statements here seem to indicate that anger is aroused and gives impetus to fortitude’s act.

573. Then, at the brave (1116b30), he explains the difference between this and genuine fortitude.

He discusses this point from three aspects.

First, he shows what pertains to true fortitude;

second, at wild animals attack (1116b31; [574]), what pertains to the rage of beasts;

third, at angry men (1117a5; [576]), what pertains to human rage.

He says that the brave are not incited to perform works of fortitude by the impulse of rage, but by the intention of good. Rage, however, does operate secondarily in these acts in the manner of a cooperator.

574. Next, at wild animals (1116b31), he shows how the anger of beasts compares with the act of fortitude. He remarks that wild animals attack dangers out of pain from harmful things—which they are actually suffering when wounded, for instance—or because of the dread of the things they fear they are about to suffer, such as when they attack men, incited to anger by fear of being wounded. The reason is that, if they were in the woods or swamps, they would not be wounded or fear to be wounded, and so would not come out to attack men. Hence, it is clear that real fortitude is not found in these animals, for they are aroused against the dangers only by pain and rage, since they do not foresee dangers, as those who act bravely by choice. If beasts who act by passion were brave, then, by the same argument, hungry donkeys (who, because of the desire for food, do not stop eating even when beaten) would be brave. Adulterers too undertake many risks for the sake of lust, but real fortitude is not found in them, since they do not act by choice of good, but by reason of passion. So it is clear that animals who are incited against danger on account of pain do not have true fortitude.

575. However much is the likeness between desire and rage, nevertheless, among all the passions, fortitude out of rage seems to be more connatural to genuine fortitude, such that, if rage be antecedently directed by choice and the motivation of a fitting end, real fortitude will be present. He expressly says, antecedently directed, because, in true fortitude, rage ought to follow rather than precede choice.

576. At angry men (1117a5), he shows what belongs to fortitude that operates by the anger of men who seem to act by choice and to intend some purpose—the punishment of the person with whom they are angry. For this reason, he says that angry men are grieved over an injury received and as yet unavenged. But, when they are taking vengeance, they are delighted in the satisfaction of their desire. Those who work vigorously at this may perhaps be called pugnacious, but hardly brave, because they are not doing the right thing, nor are they led by reason, but rather by their passion for the sake of which they desire vengeance. However, they do possess something similar to genuine fortitude, as is evident from the premises [571–72].

577. Then, at likewise, the confident (1117a9), he mentions a fourth kind of fortitude according to which some are called brave by reason of hope.

He develops this idea in a threefold fashion.

First, he explains this type of fortitude.

Second, he compares this type with true fortitude at however, such confident people (1117a11; [578]).